Game of Thrones Tales: Back to the Throne Room
by regertz
Summary: Summary: There's only one solution when Tyrion and Sansa have found the new King as mad as the Mad Targaryen and cynically evil, once securely on the throne, as Joffrey. So evil he's happily allowed the world to be invaded by unspeakably hideous creatures from some little planet out on the spiral rim of the Galaxy in order to secure his rule...Or so he madly believes.
1. Chapter 1

Game of Thrones Tales: Back to the Throne Room…

Summary: There's only one solution when Tyrion and Sansa have found the new King as mad as the Mad Targaryen and cynically evil once on the throne as Joffrey. So evil he's happily allowed the world to be invaded by unspeakably hideous creatures from some little planet out on the spiral rim of the Galaxy

(Just another shortie testing an idea, I may expand it later)

Prologue:

The voice flowed, quiet yet strong and rich…

"All seemed secure at last in the world. Though Winter was coming…Eventually…The War of the Five Kings had at last ended with Aegon Targaryen on the throne, subject to a Council of Seven Kings and a new Charter of Rights, these restraints on his power brokered by none other than his most powerful ally and friend, Lord Tyrion Lannister of Casterly Rock, Hand of the King. The young king was not entirely pleased to have his power checked but after Stannis Baratheron had destroyed one of his three dragons and had shown his potential ability to defend himself against them, he had no choice but to accept. Lord Stannis in his turn had reluctantly accepted that he could not hold out against both the Targaryen power and that of the Lannister forces backed by the Tyrells. As a result, with Danerys Targaryen agreeing to withdraw with one dragon to Essos and the other sent with Lord Jon Snow to the great Wall of the North to maintain a truce with the White Walkers, peace had seemingly come…Until they came…Just as Summer turned to Autumn…"

"What about Winter, Uncle?"

"It's coming…It's coming…" shrug, faint smile… "It has to come…One day…"

"Seems to take a long time…" the blonde-haired boy eyed the narrator…A figure in silks and leather, an adult, whose face indicated he'd seen years of hardship, even suffering…Emotional as well as physical… And yet a figure shorter than the boy as they sat, side by side on the stone bench in the large hall of the Red Keep of Kings' Landing. Its roof now open to the sky, the walls black and blasted, the beauteous stained glass windows shattered and melted…Through not from dragon fire.

"You asked to hear this…"

"Sorry, Uncle. Please?"

"Very well…As I say…So They came. At first in small numbers, studying our world. They could blend in you see, being much like us. But once they'd learnt we had little to fight them, they came in their hordes…For you see, they were not millions, like us…But billions… Not that they needed great numbers, given their weapons."

"Billions…" gasp…

"Yes…Godlike as they seemed to us at first, with their flying craft and their machine carriages and their electricity, they'd overrun their own world, despoiled and ruined it…And now they were spreading, like locusts into the Universe. That being the one thing that they taught us…That the Universe truly is more than our world here alone. That there are other worlds, other suns…"

"They only have one sun…We have two, right Uncle?"

"Yes, they told us of this…That the reason our seasons lasted for years was that we have a second sun, larger than the one we circle, that our world and its star orbit in rather odd fashion, sometimes coming close, sometimes keeping far away. On their world, seasons are short, less than a year. They knew nothing of the long winters on their world, though they now live on some worlds where they say it's always winter or always summer."

"I'd like to see those worlds, Uncle."

"I would too, Tommen. But I'm doubtful our 'friends' would allow it. They're not given to showing us such favor."

"The General says he's our friend…He's not though? Even if he ended the wars."

"No one who slaughters half our people is our friend Tommen. And he and his kind didn't end the wars, we did."

"The Targaryen usur…King Aegon…Says…"

"He says what he has to, I've told you that. Aegon is a brave man but he knows there are times when one has to say things that aren't true, to protect innocent people. So Aegon says they are our friends, proclaims it. And in his heart hopes for Winter…As we all do."

"Winter is when we'll beat them…Even if they can kill dragons and even walkers, they can't fight Winter."

"Never say that Tommen…Forget it, teach yourself not to say it. Not in front of them, if you value the lives of your friends and family. One day, you might be taken out of curiosity…Someone might tell them you were King for a time. And one of their people might find it interesting to question you about our history. So you must forget about Winter...And our hopes…"

Tommen sighed. "That's what Margaery says."

"She always was a wise girl." Nod.

"The wars never seem to end. Is it all Joff's fault?"

"No." The small man shook his head. "This war isn't even Joffrey's fault. Come, you should get back to your studies and I must go to the King. I dine with him and the General tonight."

"Dirt…That's where they come from, in the beginning? Their home?" Tommen eyed his uncle.

"Earth, they say, is the actual name…" the man pronounced the unfamiliar word carefully. "There's no other word for it in our language. And it suits them." Bitter look which vanished as a man of somewhat different complexion entered the Hall, wearing a uniform of a cloth unavailable anywhere in the world…Or at least, on this world. He strode over to them and came to attention, saluting.

"Minster…Lannister? I'm here to transport you to the Compound at the General's and the King's request." The man struggling a bit with the unfamiliar words.

"Thank you…Lieutenant." Tyrion nodded, smoothly pronouncing the alien word 'Lieutenant'. "And my compliments…You're truly getting the language down these days."

"Your wife's a good teacher, sir." The Lieutenant noted.

"Why, thank you. I know she'd be pleased to hear that. Tommen, I must go. Tell your mother and your Aunt Sansa when you see them that I'll be late. I'm sure the General will have a great deal he'll want to discuss with the King and myself after dinner. A great many resources still buried under our dirt and in our streams and fields, he'll want to tap yet. A great many people he'll want to do that work."

Part I

The armored vehicle in which Tyrion had been taken after leaving the ruins of the Red Keep rolled swiftly through the main street of Kings' Landing. People eyeing it from the sides, a few making over-obsequious bows or salutes, a few clearly mocking, many just coldly staring. Tyrion eyeing them as the vehicle roared past, two other vehicles, in front and the other, behind, making it a bit of a parade for some of the children watching…

"Always a treat to take a ride in one of your amazing mechanized carriages, Lieutenant." Tyrion noted. "And of course all the armor has to appeal to a fellow who's worn it, however briefly or badly."

"Did you, sir?" the Lieutenant eyed him from his seat across on the other side.

"Small as I am, I was a scion of a noble house and it was expected…Before you came, of course, to put an end to all that." Tyrion nodded.

"I did that once…Wore armor, I mean, back home. It was a re-enactment thing at a medieval festival thing. Heavy stuff."

"Yes, heavy indeed…So you play at it, your people? Back on Dirt…Excuse me, it's hard to say the name…E'arth, is that right?"

"Yeah, that's it. We used to have knights and jousts and armored guys riding around, centuries ago, yeah. Used to read about it. Course we didn't have the dragons, or if we did, not for long. We had dinosaurs, though…Big #$a%! Sorry, Minister, the words don't translate, it's the same as sonsofbitches, though. Of course they were gone long before we showed up…Evolved."

"I see…And no Walkers, either, you lucky people…"

"They resulted from some kinda virus, the science boys told me. The survivors changed into those guys and could spread it to you people. But that's all cured now and they're all dead."

"Yes, so they are…Seems a pity at times, given we did have a truce with them…And you say your 'natural philosophy' guys determined they were in fact, once human."

"Well, guess they wouldn't make a truce with us. Too bad." Nod.

"Yes…" Tyrion nodded. "Too bad they couldn't see the light and the blessings you people were bringing to our primitive little world. Well, I've been a soldier, even a commander, briefly…One sees these things from time to time in war."

"Yeah." The Lieutenant, pensive. "We had to nuke a planet once…The things there just kept killing our people when we landed and then it turned out they had warp drive too, just starting to use it. Couldn't let em find their way to Earth and the sister worlds, ya know?"

"Of course…" Tyrion nodded. "That would have been terrible. What a pity those people didn't see the light and realize your people are out for more than just to take resources and put others to work doing it. Even if temporarily there's disruption to our way of life and we seem to receive little benefit at first, in the long run we know we'll be a better place…" Cough, cough… "…For it…" Cough… "You must excuse me, could we put that window up? The fumes from the new refineries and smelting plants are a bit strong here." He apologetically smiled at the Lieutenant who reached over to press a pad, the window at Tyrion's side rising immediately. Tyrion breathing a sigh of relief…

More at the sounds of a group of Old Believers chanting death to the invaders immediately blocked out. This Dirter might have been able to translate. Some fools love to think sticking their heads out to be chopped off in the true Stark honorable fool position is bravery.

"Thank you. Good ole synthetic…What do you call it? O2?"

Sorry, my dear…I don't mean that. But even your father, my in-law, realized at the end he had to try to bend to survive. He just couldn't bend far enough to suit my little maniac nephew.

"Yep. No problem, sir. Of course those guys weren't 'people' really. Six foot with tentacles, mostly livin' in underwater villages…Well, it was like water, more oxygen in it, the science fellas say. Yeah, we made that planet boil, that's for sure."

"Ah…" Tyrion blinked. "Well, as long as it's all in the name of Dirt's democracy and freedom, eh? Sorry…E'…arth.." he tried again. "I'll get one day." Smile. "Afraid I've not my Sansa's gift for language."

"She's quite a gal with the lingo…I guess she's got five of our languages down now. The General thinks real high of her."

"I'm gratified to hear that. Any service my family can do is a pleasure. Tell me, Lieutenant? Will anyone besides the King and the General be there? I mean, if it's to be a formal occasion, I should like to dress beforehand."

"I guess it will, sir. The Queen's to be there and some of your big guys and our brass, at least for dinner. Your wife, too, I think. Sergeant!" the Lieutenant cried to the driver. "Give me a check on tonight's dinner and reception list!"

"Sir, yes, sir." The female sergeant called back. "Printing it out now, sir!"

A printout emerged from a slot in the rear of the wall separating the driver's compartment from the passenger/cargo section. The Lieutenant tearing off the list, scanned it. "Yes, sir…A pretty good group, sir. And your wife's included."

"How very kind of the General. She's sure to be very pleased. So, if that's the case, could you drop me by my quarters in the Compound?"

"Certainly, sir. Sergeant!"

….

The Compound…Fortified base and spaceport for the Occupiers…Comprising an area for blocks around the center of Kings' Landing. Duraconcrete and steel fencing with patrol drones and heavily armed guards ensuring that the citizens of the capital kept strictly to their side, unless invited in.

Clearance approved at the point named by the Lieutenant as "Checkpoint Charlie", they proceeded in. Tyrion glancing round at the various Dirter soldiers on patrol, their open and armored vehicles whizzing by. The occasional flying craft soaring off or in the case of the strange hovering buglike craft, the "choppers" and the "maghovers" lifting slowly off the ground.

"Here we are, sir." The Lieutenant noted as they pulled up to a large building, formerly the property of a wealthy merchant who'd died in the final fighting between Stannis Barathreon and Aegon Targaryen…A lifetime ago, it seemed to Tyrion. Now, at the pleasure of the Occupiers, his…Though at least he'd been able to pay the starving family of the former owner something in return for the suite of rooms he and Sansa were allotted.

"See you at dinner, I hope, Lieutenant?" Tyrion politely addressed the officer who smiled and nodded, saluting him again and giving a quick, sharp look to a soldier who seemed amused by the small fellow emerging from the vehicle, in the antique-style clothes of the primitives. The soldier catching the stare immediately stiffened and wiped the smile.

Got to give the Dirters that, Tyrion reflected as he entered the building through its massive front door, nodding to the guards and presenting his id tag. They do enforce discipline among their soldiers.

He listened to the Dirters chatting amongst themselves…Various curious accents now he could just manage to make out in the chatter. Still hard to grasp the words when they spoke in normal conversation, and often that jarring mix of languages. But, billions, not millions meant many lingos back on good ole Dirt…Earth…Whatever…

Hell, one might prefer to call it…Where the Devils sprang from…


	2. Chapter 2

Game of Thrones Tales: Back to the Throne Room…

Summary: There's only one solution when Tyrion and Sansa have found the new King as mad as the Mad Targaryen and cynically evil, once on the throne, as Joffrey. So evil he's happily allowed the world to be invaded by unspeakably hideous creatures from some little planet out on the spiral rim of the Galaxy, to secure his reign of terror.

Part II…

I say it as a personal mantra, a dozen times a day…"I miss her. I miss my wife." Tyrion thought as he paused to luxuriate in the embrace in which he was now enfolded.

"Dearest…" Sansa whispered. "Another day safe, another gift from the gods." She squeezed.

"Not if you squeeze any tighter, my love." He gasped, chuckling. She maintaining the embrace, pulling head back to look at him. "Liar…" shrewd look. "You're so slippery an eel you'd…Pop…Right up and out." She grinned.

"I suppose you know we have a dinner engagement." He noted. She sighing…

"Fuck it, yes…" grimly.

"Dear…" he sighed in turn. "I fear your sainted mother's spirit will finally hurl me out the Eyrie Moon Door for the way I've influenced your language."

"And if she did, I'd stop her. And tell her, we'd all be together if our 'nobility' had enabled her to see you just once as you are."

"Heavens forbid…She'd really kill me." He gave mock-horrified stare. "Can you bear it or should I make excuse? I can give you something mild…You could vomit, accidentally on the General himself." Grin.

"You wicked Imp." She grinned back. "No, I'll not let you suffer alone. I can bear it. And maybe I'll hear something useful."

"Sansa." He gave her a worried look. "If you hear something, that's fine. But don't go playing spy. These people may find you charming and amusing but they're utterly convinced at heart that we are nothing but animals who happen to look a lot like them. Don't trust too far in their smiles and little kindnesses. We're pets to them…Playthings. And sometimes playthings get broken, just for the hell of it."

"I'll be careful." She nodded. "Haven't you always said, I would survive us all?" smile.

"I pray each day to the gods, even that Dirt God, for that." He gave wan smile. "So, how were things at school and the orphanages and hospitals? Did you have a good day? Did the Queen go with you?"

"Margeary was there at the Orphanage." Sansa suddenly solemn. "Tyrion? She was worried about Aegon's new treaty."

"Another? What did they ask for this time? Our underwear and the blood of our children's children's children?"

"He didn't mention it to you…The Council?"

"Nothing, no…" he paused, heading to the door of the kitchen and opening… "Hello?! May? A tankard of ale for me…And one for the Mistress."

"Getting me drunk before dinner?" Sansa smiled.

"It's my way of courting…You know that. Besides, you didn't say no." he noted shrewdly.

"I suppose I could use it." She nodded. "It was a long day."

"My Lady…My Lord." May, a tall, thin girl in servant outfit brought in two tankards on a tray and set them on a long dining table.

"Thanks, May. We are going out to dinner tonight, sorry if that disrupts Nan's plans."

"I already warned her we'd be going…" Sansa, hastily.

"Oh, good then. Though I rather like recooked. Nan never gets my meat as black as I like the first time. Well, May, you and Nan may take the evening off, starting as soon as you take this tray in. Get along with you. But don't exceed curfew." Stern wag of finger. "I can't always use my influence to get you two wildlings out of trouble, you know." He smiled.

"Yes, milord." Nod. May grabbing tray and hurrying off.

"Either she's a very good spy or she's innocent." Tyrion noted to Sansa as the door closed. "But best to assume she's a spy."

"Nothing ever changes, does it?" sigh.

"Well, she may be a spy for the Occupiers…Though they are refreshing in that they are rather clumsy in that regard. They so tend to rely on their weaponry and numbers…Alright, we're alone as we can hope to be. What about the treaty?" he eyed her. "And yes, we haven't heard a word."

"It gives them more territory in the east to use unrestrained and revokes our right to review there."

"The Dothraki won't like that. It being their territory. But Aegon may have had little choice…"

"I don't trust Aegon, Tyrion." Sansa shook her head. "I know you believe he's a friend…"

"I wouldn't go that far. I want to believe he's cooperating for the safety of our people. After all…" he lowered voice. "Until full Winter comes, we've no chance against the Dirters…We don't want another bloodbath as with poor Stannis and his rebellion."

"No…But Tyrion…" Sansa bit lip… "Margeary says…She sees a little of Joffrey in Aegon, more each day. And I do too…Since the Occupiers came and Stannis was removed as a threat, he's been more and more determined, she says, to recover his powers as king. And she thinks he's doing more than just placating the Occupiers…" She eyed him carefully. "We are with him more than you, especially her…I hope you place some value in what we say."

"I've never been one to deny the value of bedroom intelligence, Sansa." Smile, then sigh. "I've seen him wince at the checks we've put on him…I half suspected he'd try to break out of the bounds the Council and the Charter set, right from the start, but…Like Joffrey?"

"He is a Targaryen."

"But not of union of brother and sister…" Tyrion sighed. "I'd hoped that would spare us another Mad King…He did agree not to marry Danerys. Not that he particularly wanted her or she, him. But they feel it was…Tradition."

"Margeary believes he loves her. In that, he is better than Joffrey…And I did say 'like Joffrey' not 'Joffrey reborn'…" shudder.

Tyrion putting an hand on her shoulder. "If I ever thought he was another Joffrey…" solemn stare. "And this is from the man who killed his own cunt of a father. A cunt of a mad King? No problem."

"But what can you do? If he was killed, the Occupiers would take it as an attack on them, especially if he's as close to them as Margeary believes."

"The Queen has a shrewd head…And a remarkably strong stomach. I'm willing to accept her opinion…And yours. And you're right…It would be dangerous, unless we could convince the Dirters that Aegon's too much of a liability. If he was no longer of use to them, they'd probably depose him themselves. Maybe even put me on the throne…" he gave her a mock-shocked stare. "Is that your little game my fox? To put hubby on the Iron Throne, at last?"

"You'd slide off…" she frowned, grinning immediately. "But, if they did…"

"No, they'd insist on letting us hold some farce of an election…Voiding anyone they disliked, of course. Voiding likely meaning in the most extreme way…And while the Council shows me a modicum of respect, they'd never put me on the throne unless they expected the Occupiers to start shooting Kings shortly. Still, the Council are all good men, thank the gods. If any one of them were put in Aegon's place…" sigh. "I hate to believe he's already degenerated like that. But I have to admit I'd heard disturbing reports. And while he has shown a friendly face to me and supported liberation to our faces in secret…It's possible he's been deceiving us."

Sansa, anxious…"You haven't trusted him…Not with…Too much?"

"That I, Heavens help us…Am more or less by default, the leading organizer of resistance around the world? No, even I'm not that stupid…And I love you far too much to risk you being implicated. No, I've only expressed a desire to protect our people with him. Just as I've never told him it was I who gave Stannis the formulation of wildfire that enabled him to burn that dragon and force the truce. Poor Stannis, a brave fellow, really…Gods rest his soul. He fought to the last, sword in hand against their bullets and napalm and rockets. A Barathreon if there ever was one…"

"I think…"Sansa paused. "Maybe it's because I'm a coward, but I think it's braver sometimes to survive…At least when there's hope of some kind if you survive, to win in the end." She stared at him.

"You are the bravest person I have ever known, Sansa Stark." He eyed her, taking her hands in his. "Well, lets put on our bravest, survivalist, pleasantest…" he shook her hands at each adjective… "…faces and have dinner with the Dragon and the Devils. And then, see what's to be done…"

He grinned at her slight frown…

"I know, I'm a regular Littlefinger these days, though not as clever, perhaps."

"Perhaps…But I'm sure you fuck better." Smile. "Not that I've had the experience to compare." Arch look.

"You wicked imp…" he mock-glared.

…


	3. Chapter 3

Game of Thrones Tales: Back to the Throne Room…

Summary: There's only one solution when Tyrion and Sansa have found the new King as mad as the Mad Targaryen and cynically evil, once on the throne, as Joffrey. So evil he's happily allowed the world to be invaded by unspeakably hideous creatures from some little planet out on the spiral rim of the Galaxy, to secure his reign of terror.

Part III…

The vast dining hall of the former Guild of Merchants' Hall, now requisitioned by the Terran Development Forces as their principle offices and quarters of senior staff and visiting dignitaries…Just across from the New Palace, a former great merchant's grand palace taken over by King Aegon after the fall of Kings' Landing and destruction of the Red Keep during Stannis' Rebellion.

The beautiful art work, stained glass, and exquisite hand-crafted wood furniture contrasting with the rather spartan steel, collapsible tables, desks and chairs of the Occupiers, though here in the great hall it was still the original Westeros furnishings that predominated.

Terran…Or as most of the locals would say, at least in private, "Dirter"…Soldiers on guard at various positions, other soldiers and staff in civilian clothes, including a number of locals, a few in Terran dress, hurrying to and fro on various missions. But at the far end of the hall, under the great window of hand-worked stained Dornian glass, a group of officials at table…A mix of Occupiers and Westerosians, including a few Essosians from the former Free Cities, now governed, many would say as a puppet for the Terrans, by Danerys Targaryen in her capital at Braavos.

A group of three soldiers who'd met Tyrion and Sansa at the main door and formed a sort of honor guard for them, politely keeping slight distance from Tyrion's own bodyguard, two former famed knights of the Lannister bannerguard, now with equal courtesy asked them to pause while their sergeant announced their arrival.

"At least they do try to do things with a little more style these days…" Tyrion noted to Sansa, smiling at her in her gown. "I shouldn't forget to say how lovely you look, my dear."

"Wish you'd take the trouble to comb your hair…" she frowned, eyeing him.

"I did…I certainly did…But it's my Lannister hair and being Lannister hair it rebels against being trapped on this hideous frame. Naturally it aches to be on a Jamie or at least a Joffrey." He grinned.

"It should be grateful in both cases…" she licked her hand and started smoothing his hair. "And what have I said about this endless self-deprication?"

"A little…Very good, Sans, I always love that…Goes a long way…" he smiled. "All right, I shall promise to take myself at least as well as you do, for whatever delusional reason you do."

"Tyrion…" she hissed.

"Well, at least so in front of our hosts…" he replied, nodding. She giving half-smile and nod.

"Please, Minister…Lady Lannister…" the sergeant came to them.

"Lady Stark, Sergeant…" Tyrion corrected, gently. "We don't always change last names in our noble families here…"

Sansa, grateful beam…But leaning to his ear…"It's all right, so long as it's your branch…" gentle smile.

"Sorry, sir…Lady Stark." The sergeant nodded, leading them on.

"So they says to me…" the hearty rich voice, speaking in the main Dirter tongue, Anglish…Or Englesh, was it? Tyrion pondered.

"…Oh…But this is the most sacred temple of God knows what the fuck they called it there and you cannot relocate it without risking the wrath of whoever, Senator. So I says to the little fellers… 'Fellers, like Harry Truman, I'm from Missouri, US, Earth, and I say…You can either move it…Or lose it…Up to you. Cause we are gonna git that crystal deposit. So they put on a face and whined and went on about treaties and sacred promises and what not, but in the end, they damned well moved the whole thing…And in a day, like I told them. " Guffaw, expansive tone… "That's the way to deal with them, General…On Tau Ceti V and here…Don't take no nonsense."

Another, firmer yet equally rich voice, the General's, Tyrion recognized…"I've always found that to be the way, Senator. Within the UN charter limits, of course."

"Shoot, frig the damned panty-waist UN limits, General…" As Tyrion and Sansa approached, the second speaker turning in his seat to glance at them and rising, the Senator, seated next to him, a white-haired but vigorous man in fine dark blue Terran suit, looking over the table to view the new arrivals as well.

"Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of King Aegon Targaryen and Minister of Defense for the Kingdom of Westeros and the Essos Cities and his wife, Lady Sansa Stark…" the Sergeant announced with surprising formality.

Hmmn…Tyrion thought, eyeing the soldier. He must have had some experience as a servant on Dirt or some place he came from.

"Minister Lannister!" the General's voice booming heartily. "Great that you were able to join us. Lady Sansa." Nod.

"General." Tyrion, nod. "Welcome back, Senator Hartwell…How did you find E'arth? Still there in the heavens, I trust." He smiled at the Senator, who gave a smiling nod.

"Lannister…Nice to see you again, little feller. And that pretty wife of yours."

"Please, join us." The General urged. "The Senator was just giving me his impression of his trip around the sister worlds and colonies."

"Ah, a travelogue of the stars…How wonderful." Tyrion nodded, leading Sansa to a seat across from the General which the sergeant had pulled out for her. He allowing the sergeant to pull his chair, carefully indicating that he would like to be between Sansa and the Senator.

"Thank you…" Sansa, in perfect Dirter tongue, taking her seat as the sergeant pushed it in for her.

"Many thanks, sergeant." Tyrion taking his own seat between her and the Senator...Sansa shooting a grateful look of relief. He looked about.

"Isn't the King dining with us?"

"He's been out hunting with Chairman Kach and his party today." The General explained. "They ought to be along shortly."

"Hunting…Boar, stag?…Boring people?" Tyrion asked.

Sansa giving him narrow look from her seat as the Senator guffawed heartily. "You're a small firearm, much like a penis, Lannister." He said in reasonably good Andal Common Tongue.

"A…Pistol…I believe you mean, Senator, correct?" Tyrion asked, pronouncing the word carefully in E'nglish.

"Exactly, very good." The Senator nodded. "This boy's all right, General." Chuckling.

"The Minister's a good man and a valuable asset indeed." The General nodded.

"Really? An asset? A valuable asset? I think I'm in love." Tyrion smiled. Chuckles around. "Though I do appreciate the General's kind words. I try to be useful and I hope helpful to your people as well as my own."

Sansa chancing to catch the frown of a servant, a female native of the Landing, as she brought a tray of glasses…

Damn you people, you never had respect for him before when he saved your lives, now you lick and fawn for food, money, and your lives, and sneer at him for playing the Game when he's still risking his life and his family and Gods know what kind of horrors for you, she glared at the girl.

"So what brings you back to our world so soon, Senator? I'd've of thought you'd want to spend more time at home, in that wonderful democratic legislature of yours, seeing your family, and your lovely E..arth. Ah, got it that time." He beamed.

"A few loose ends, here, Lannister. Some new negotiations the Secretary General thought I should be in on, to keep the proper civilian end up on our side. Can't have it all done by the military…Folks back home'd start sayin' we weren't giving you the proper legal forms."

"Ah…Can't have that." Tyrion nodded. Sansa looking noncommittally around the room but frowning again as the servant woman slammed Tyrion's wine glass just a tad too hard by his side, spilling some on him.

"Girl, clean that up!" she commanded in a surprisingly stern voice. "Sansa's Voice of Doom" as Tyrion had come to call it…

"Pardons, sir." The woman nervously pulled a rag and dabbed.

"Quite all right. I usually manage to get at least one tankard over me by the end of the evening." Tyrion smiled. "Thank you."

Sansa grimly eyeing her, the woman set her own wine glass down by her side and scurried off.

"She's just trying to be a patriot…In her own way…" Tyrion hissed.

"Let her do it to one of them, then." Sansa hissed back. "If she's determined to show her defiance…"

"You all right, there, Tyrion?" the Senator looked over.

"Quite, Senator." Tyrion nodded. "Sansa was just saying that's hard these days to find a trained servant. So many are taking advantage of your educational programs and job training…Or, simply not available…For other reasons."

"We're proud of that training thing…" the Senator nodded. "Giving 'em a future besides waitin' tables…You know I waited tables in college. Got my share of moneys paid in thanks…And not a little…Kissin'." He tempered his remark, glancing at Sansa. "You've been taking up a career yourself, eh, Miss Sansa…Lady Stark? Teaching languages?"

"Sansa is a marvelous…What is it?...Ah, linguist…Linguist, dear?" he turned to her, she nodding. "Yes. But she's also involved with the Queen in her charitable works. And Gods know what I would do without her help with managing our estate. Busier than I am, most of the time, certainly." He smiled.

"Lady Stark's a great help." The General noted quietly. Sipping at his wine, a rare vintage from the old Riverrun estates of the Tullys…Now fallen on rather hard times, most of their lands appropriated for "development" by the Occupiers in association, so claimed, with the King, for the realm.

"And Chairman Kach…Will he be joining us?" Tyrion asked, pleasant tone.

Sansa wincing involuntarily…

The Devil of Devils…And one who never refrained from displaying an interest and a sense of entitlement regarding the native women, including and especially those of high birth. Even Queen Margeary not free of his attentions, though to date not forced beyond a certain limit…

"Dick'll be heading back up to Riverrun, he's got business there at the new rare earths mines." The Senator noted. "But he wanted to see things settled down here and figured he'd do a little business with the King while hunting. It's not golf but…" smile.

"Golf…I love that word." Tyrion nodded. "So you hit a hard little ball with a special club of iron or steel across a field where the grasses have been cut flat and you seek to get the ball into one of several little holes, is that right? I played a small scale…Pardon the unintentional pun, gentlemen…" Guffaws and chuckles all around… "…version with the General a week ago…Fascinating."

"Just a little putting green I had put in. Not the real thing, as I told the Minister."

"A good walk spoilt…So some folks call it." The Senator grinned. "I'm not partial to it myself, I think I prefer hunting…Though I'm more of duck and quail guy, myself…Not so much a boar man…And I hope I'm not being a bore, ma'am." He smiled at Sansa who gave a quiet smile and shake of head.

"Not at all, Senator."

"But on Earth a lot of business gets done on the golf course…At least at the bar and restaurant later. I know I managed to twist a few wrists to get a few bills passed that way." Laughs. "But I think I'm gettin' fond of your jousts, Lannister."

"Ah, a fading art, Senator…Few knights left and few nobles have the resources or time to practice. Besides, many on the Council…And the King himself...Wonder if it's quite the sort of thing for our new era. Not quite "civilized"…" he looked down the table at the Senator.

"Well, we've got wrestling and boxing back home…Not much different. And hockey…Now there's a game where you can see a little blood at times. But I've found I kinda like to see a good ole joust. We used to have em on Earth, you know…Back in the merrie old days in England and all that."

"Excuse me?" Tyrion frowned at the unfamiliar words. "mmeerie old days…"?

"The days of old, when knights were bold…Something, something… We had them, once." The Senator noted. "Guess we did our share of killing then, too. Man to man, that sort of thing. Clean way to do it."

"Yes, man to man is a clean way to do it." Tyrion nodded. Refraining from noting that massive bombing from the air didn't quite have the same "cleanliness". "But death is Death, Senator. We're probably better off without it. Perhaps we can learn to do it as you do now…The Lieutenant there…" he indicated the Lieutenant who'd brought him to the Compound, who'd been sitting silently across from him and Sansa… "Told me of how on your world you do still a bit of swordplay and jousting, for amusement, without drawing real blood."

"Kiddie fairs and showmen…Not real jousting…" the Senator shook his head.

"One does miss the real thrill of bloodsport…" Tyrion nodded. "Even if it must be sacrificed on the altar of progress…Well, it's nice to know some of our knights who can't take up another trade or go into business can find employment as entertainers. But, General…Leaving the question of employment for the ex-noble, what's this I hear of a new treaty?" he gave the General an innocent look, smiling.

"That's something Dick's working out with the King…" the Senator noted. "Be quite a thing…Good all round."

"As always…I'm sure." Tyrion nodded. "I take it it will be submitted to the Council for review, according to our Charter of Rights and the treaty of Kings' Landing?"

"All the proper legals'll be followed, Lannister…As always." The Senator nodded complacently.

"Of course…So then I may inform the Council and approach the King on the matter…It not being some sort of state secret…?"

"I'd wait to see that the King is satisfied, Minister. The details need to be fully worked out." The General spoke up, quiet but firm. "How did you hear about it, if I may ask?"

"Rumors…Whispers…I have my sources as Lord Varys in Braavos does. I have to keep abreast of events, gentlemen, as Hand and Defense Minister." Tyrion noted.

"Fair enough. And of course you will receive a full report from our side and I trust, the King soon." The General eyed him.

"Excellent, thank you, General." Tyrion raised his glass. "A toast, all…To the new treaty. Sure, I'm sure, to continue the wonderful success of the partnership of this world and the Terran Developers." All raising glasses, Sansa a bit nervously.

The General being, clearly…And even though a Dirter…No fool…

"My Lord and Lady…General…Senator…And distinguished guests and friends…" a dapper native maitre'd had entered the dining hall, with a young herald at his side. A eunich, so like Varys, that for a moment Tyrion was almost sure…But then he realized, no, not Varys…Varys was yet with the Targaryen Queen, in Braavos, no doubt doing his best to see that she remain a compliant tool of the Occupiers, poor girl.

Brave, a competent ruler, and…He wryly noted. Not without a certain resistance to fire…But hopelessly out of her depth against Varys and the Dirters he'd chosen to back.

"…The King…And Queen…" the eunich maitre'd concluded with a flourish. A troop of knights, the new Kingsguard, bearing Dirter weapons as well as swords but still in the traditional armor, entering to form a guard of honor, lining the way from the door. Tyrion noting the Dirter soldier guards eyeing the Kingsguard lines, carefully from where they stood, with superior weapons, near the table in easy protective range of the General and Senator.

One does have to give them their due as to discipline…And being not quite all boorish, murderous fools.


	4. Chapter 4

Game of Thrones Tales: Back to the Throne Room…

Summary: There's only one solution when Tyrion and Sansa have found the new King as mad as the Mad Targaryen and cynically evil, once on the throne, as Joffrey. So evil he's happily allowed the world to be invaded by unspeakably hideous creatures from some little planet out on the spiral rim of the Galaxy, to secure his reign of terror.

Part IV…

"Nothing like the real thing, trumpets and all that…" the Senator noted to Tyrion, as several guards sounded trumpets announcing the arrival of King Aegon and Queen Margaery…Preceeded first by several more knights in armor, then a herald…

Gods…Tyrion sighed…

I get that Aegon wants to make it clear he's still King here, but even Joffrey didn't put on this kind of a show for a relatively minor dinner.

The General leaning back, observing quietly…Unimpressed, Tyrion guessed by the panoply but rather interested in the knights and their potential skills. Stannis and his army had impressed him that much in the final battle.

He looked over to his own two bannermen, now seated, to Sansa's right…Ser Harys Swyft and the young son of the late Ser Leo Lefford, Leyd Lefford. Ser Harys having clear difficulty in maintaining his composure at the sight of the Dirter forces in occupation, despite the rather deferential attitude of the young Terran soldiers, most of whom were always eager to try and talk with the native knights. Ser Leyd, with the natural flexibility of the young, better able to deal with the aliens' almost touchingly naïve enthusiasm at the sight of real, active knights. Even a bit flattered that they should show such respect, given their near-Godlike technologies, though Ser Harys was stern in demanding the younger man, his subordinate in the Lannister guard, display a proper attitude of courteous aloofness toward the Occupiers. Ser Leyd now a bit more subdued, eager to make no mistake in his Lord's and his King's presence, but rather as fascinated in observing the Dirters as they were him…Several of the Dirter guards eyeing him in his armor as he sat, trying to maintain a solemn dignity while seated. A handsome boy, Tyrion noted…Better looking than his late father, long drowned in the War of the Five. He'd likely go far if the Occupiers stayed, he got on well with them while generally managing to please Ser Harys in his performance of his duties…Duties admittedly a bit more limited these days. Though at least, given the decline in the Lannister fortunes, there was still enough to do to on a daily basis to keep them reasonably well employed. And given that the Lannister fortunes had yet emerged in better shape than nearly all other great houses, they were in an enviable position, for men who knew little but the knightly arts.

Though Ser Leyd's charm of manner and youthful enthusiasm did conceal a brain…Perhaps not that of a Player of the Game, but one of great use to Tyrion, given Leyd's easy ability to ingratiate himself with the Dirters.

For when Winter did come…If by the Gods it would be as harsh and long as so often predicted…Men who could master the Dirters' arms, who'd learnt from the Dirters how they fought and therefore, how to fight them…Those men would be priceless.

He thought with an internal shudder, of the young Lieutenant's casual words… "We boiled the planet…" Gods…How does one begin to fight a people who can calmly boil a whole world of water? Sansa's slightest of taps bringing him back to attention just in time as the royal couple entered solemnly, arm-in-arm.

They did make a beautiful pair, Aegon and Margaery, the young royals…Aegon, his hair no longer dyed blue for concealment, his eyes just the start of purple in the lights of the room, in regal red and gold, his gold crown firmly on his head…Margaery as lovely as ever, in green and blue, fur-trimmed collar, erect…

How poor Tommen had wept the night he'd been told Margaery was to marry Aegon. It had never bothered him when Cersei told him, rather coldly, in the new Hand's presence, that he'd been deposed, thanks to his treacherous uncle and that uncle's pact with a devil…The Targaryen devil. That he would no longer sit on the Iron Throne, which he'd hated anyway…That he wasn't even to be allowed to be of royal descent…A mere minor member now, of the House of Lannister…A bastard. None of that bothered him…But hearing that Margaery, his dear Margaery, would not be marrying him…That had brought him to tears. Though, Margaery, kind as ever, had not failed to guess his sorrow and had quickly assured him she would be a good friend and protector to him, always…A sister. Even Cersei, finally broken in her pride, had been grateful…

Poor Cersei…He thought…As he rose with Sansa, the General, the Senator, and the others at table and the standing guards, of Westeros and Earth, snapped to even fuller attention. Her last desperate bid for power…For a glorious death, really…Had become her. And he liked to believe in those final months, she really had come to feel something for Stannis, that when they died together, in the Red Keep, defiant to the last...She'd died feeling something like love. He couldn't love or mourn her, not after all that had happened…But he could wish that for her, his strange, horribly twisted sister. That at the very end, she'd known just a brief moment of something like love.

"Your Majesty…" the General saluted Aegon, who accepted the salute graciously. Margaery standing by him, smiling at all with a warm smile that managed to be both gracious and sincere at the same time.

Oh, poor girl…Too clever for your own comfort…Tyrion thought. If only you were simply a beautiful fool. But you're not…And so, dear a creature as you are, you must suffer. And largely at my hands…It's true. Aegon would have married Danerys simply out of respect for Targaryen tradition if I'd not gotten the new Council to stand with me in opposing the match…For the greater good of the realm. I might have spared you the consequences of your ambition, but for that…The greater good. And all for nothing, one might say…Though two dragons united would simply have meant more deaths. And perhaps a more brutal occupation of the Free Cities than their current situation…With more than one reduced to ash like Pentos.

But if I am so largely to blame here, you too, oh Gods, are as well…Making that poor, vainly ambitious girl love this fellow, despite all her experience, her careful training at her grandmother's knee, her wisdom. That is unforgiveable, Gods... Knowing what I know now…What I've even kept from my dear Sansa…Till she, in her remarkable wisdom learnt it herself. That I have put another Mad King on the throne. A Mad King, charming and gracious, even brave…But mad with all the madness of the Targaryen line. And protected by fiends we couldn't have imagined in our worst nightmares.


	5. Chapter 5

Game of Thrones Tales: Back to the Throne Room…

Summary: There's only one solution when Tyrion and Sansa have found the new King as mad as the Mad Targaryen and cynically evil, once on the throne, as Joffrey. So evil he's happily allowed the world to be invaded by unspeakably hideous creatures from some little planet out on the spiral rim of the Galaxy, to secure his reign of terror.

Part V…

His Majesty having taken his place at the head of the table, Margaery at his right, his Kingsguards standing, flanking him, the Grand Maester Pycelle seated to his left, the General next to Margaery at her right, Tyrion accepted the King's friendly greeting with nodding smile.

"My Lord Hand…I should ask you to sit by me but I see you're with dear Lady Sansa and I wouldn't want to break into your chance to share a few words, given how busy you both are."

"Eh, I would be very happy to give up my seat, Your Grace…" Pycelle, made a vague gesture at rising feebly…

"No, I wouldn't hear of it, Grand Maester…" Tyrion waved a hand. "The King and I will speak at our appointed time or when His Grace wishes. I wouldn't wish to fatigue you…And I do appreciate His Majesty's gracious willingness to let me spend the evening with my Lady."

Nor allow you to pester her, you miserable old lech…

Noncommittal smile from Pycelle… "No one could wish to be parted from the company of so gracious a lady, my Lord Hand."

Tyrion, slight nod of acknowledgement…

"You'll outlive us all, old feller…It's that eye you have for the pretty ones." the Senator, heartily…A titter round the table…Pycelle smiling broadly.

"Senator Hartwell…You are most welcome back to our world. And how is the noble land of our benefactors these days?"

"Earth's still there, as lil' Lannister here asked." The Senator, chuckling…Appreciative echo…

"Just foolin' with ya, Tyrion. You know you're the biggest man here in spirit."

"Indeed, my Lord Hand Lannister has always been a large fellow in so many matters…" Pycelle, smiling. "It's no wonder he has the King's full confidence in all affairs of state. A brilliant mind coupled to a most noble spirit…The perfect representative of the King throughout his realms…"

Oh, Lords…Tyrion sighed.

Bad enough when he casts verbal daggers at me…But a thousand times worse when he makes me the subject of a panegyric.

"Thank you, Grand Maester." Sansa cut him off in mid-effusion. "Your Grace, was the sport today satisfactory? Her Majesty told me of your hunt with Chairman Kach at Riverrun. It can be so hard to find worthy game these days, I'm told."

Thank you, dearest…Tyrion shot grateful look. She giving half smile.

"Indeed, yes, my Lady Sansa." Aegon smiled graciously. "Fortunately the preserve where we hunted has been well-stocked. I brought down a boar and two stags, with spear."

"I doubt Dick used a spear…" the Senator guffawed. "What'd he manage? Your Majesty…" added as afterthought.

"No, to be sure…The Chairman preferred his own weapon of choice, a hunting rifle. But he did well, a couple of ducks and a stag." Aegon noted.

"How did you find Riverrun, dearest?" Margeary, smiling. "I'm sure Lady Sansa is more anxious to hear the seat and her Tully relatives remain well and whole than anything else."

"Very lovely as always…Your cousins are well, my Lady…" Aegon looked down to Sansa. "And the development of the Realm's Allotment continues apace. You would hardly know the old wilderness and fields. All is booming, as the Chairman likes to say." He pronounced the Terran English word "booming" carefully.

"That's good to hear." The Senator nodded. "We're counting on the rare earths' mines there coming into full production asap."

"I feel sure that will be the case, Senator." Aegon smiled. "All my people are most eager to work for the bright future of our world and yours."

"Yes…How many are now employed in the mines?" Tyrion asked, innocently.

"I'm not sure but I believe the Master of Science and Coin would know…Pycelle?"

"Your Majesty…" slight harrumphing… "While I would like to confirm the figures, I would say currently about 25,000 in the Riverrun area."

"Remarkable." Tyrion nodded. "All those people employed, sheltered, fed, and of course provided with proper safety equipment…Given, as I understand, the hazardous nature of the elements being mined there."

"Eh, naturally…My Lord Hand, naturally…" Pycelle, nodding complacently.

"Though I do hear there has been a remarkable rise in deaths in the area…Stillborn children…Strange deformities."

"Can't make an omelet without breakin' a few eggs, Lannister." The Senator, guffawing.

"Of course, Senator. I just hope…As Hand and Minister of Defense, it being my responsibility to consider such matters…That all that can be done to keep the workers and the general populace safe and well is being done."

"I should never allow my people to be harmed, Lord Hand." Aegon, suddenly…Annoyed tone. "I would trust you know that."

"Of course your Grace…" Tyrion nodded.

"No one harms my people. That should be understood." Aegon, glaring round.

Sansa giving Tyrion a slight, apprehensive look…Don't push him any further…

"Absolutely, your Majesty…" the General noted, calmly. "Minister Lannister is quite right to mention his concerns but we're doing all we can to follow proper procedure as you've always requested."

"Yes, good…" Aegon, calming immediately. "And good of you, Lord Hand, to remain vigilant in your concern for the people, whom I cherish as their ruler and undoubted Lord. Thank you as always."

"Majesty." Tyrion nodded.

"Always best to keep them in good shape…" the Senator cut in. "Good all around."

"I'm so glad we all agree…" Tyrion smiled. He raised glass… "To the good of the People…"

All raising glasses…Drinking.

"And, as I said earlier, before your arrival, Your Grace…To the new treaty and the prosperity it promises for all!" he raised his glass again.

Aegon, slight, narrow look…Margaery giving Tyrion a look of concern…

Careful…

"As always…" Pycelle, slightest degree of contempt, hard stare down the table to Tyrion… "My Lord Hand is most well-informed."

"It's my duty to be so, Your Grace…" Tyrion noted.

"That treaty…Is secret…" Aegon frowned. "No word of it should have escaped…Or should now…" he glanced round the table.

"And none shall speak of it until Your Grace wishes to make it known, as according to the terms of the Charter and the Council's constitution." Tyrion noted, firmly.

Aegon eyeing him a moment, then suddenly grinning… "Pycelle is right, you are always a well-informed fellow, Lannister. You always were. My most valuable ally, from the start…" Chuckling.

All doing so round the table…As Tyrion nodded gravely.

"We shall speak of it and other state matters later, together…" Aegon, graciously. "But let us for now enjoy a little light conversation and the company of our gracious benefactors."

"Here, here…" Pycelle, nodding. "To our dear friends of Earth…" he raised glass. All raising…Aegon smiling to Margaery at her gentle touch, standing, with her…All rising as well.

"To our friends and benefactors…My good allies…With whose support no enemy will ever again dare to disturb the peace of Our Realm." Aegon noted, raising glass. All raising.

"No enemy…" he repeated, smiling down at Tyrion with his blue-violet eyes.

…

Pleading the press of business the next day, the General had taken leave early after dinner had been followed by dessert and the reception had moved on to a musical performance featuring both native Westeros musicians and a small orchestra just in from Earth…The guests now standing as the evening wound down, breaking up into small islands of conversation, the guards of course…King's, Lannister, Terran ever present. The King and Queen holding court for the largest group but others forming and breaking up constantly around them.

"My Lord Hand…" Pycelle paused at the group surrounding Tyrion and Sansa…Tyrion, as he liked to note to Sansa, at least pleased to note he could look forward to a career as either comic entertainer, perhaps even among the Terrans, or court jester, should the King ever withdraw his favor and support. "Maester…" Tyrion nodded.

"Might I have a word or two, before an old man must take himself off to bed…Despite this enchanting and enthralling entertainment…?"

"Certainly…I'll walk you to the door…Ser Leyd, there's no need to come, stay by my Lady, with Ser Halys." Tyrion turned to the knight guard who had moved as if to follow. Giving Sansa a reassuring glance as he passed by her, she currently at the Queen's side, chatting about their charity work.

"Most kind of you…I find I rather do require a bit of support at the end of such a long day." Pycelle noted. Tyrion blinking…

A bit much, looking to me for an arm's support…

"If an old man may take the liberty…" Pycelle, leaning heavily on his shoulder. Rather clearly pleased to be causing a bit of discomfort to Tyrion.

"A most delightful evening…"

"Most delightful…" Tyrion nodded. Waiting as they strolled, Pycelle clearly wishing more than an arm…Or in his case, shoulder, to lean on.

"I must say…You go too far in trivial matters, my Lord." Pycelle, careful whisper. "You cannot always expect the King to be so gracious…And there are other concerns."

"How would it look if I took no interest in such things?" Tyrion hissed back. "The General is no fool, he expects me to be concerned. I've expressed concern."

Pycelle, slight harrumphing…

"You know I'm right. If we all sat around, nothing but smiles on our faces and no questions the General would only be convinced we were up to something."

"Perhaps you have a point, Lord Lannister." He conceded. "But, by the same token, do not dismiss the Senator as an old fool. We old fools can sometimes surprise."

"I don't, believe me. Anything else?"

"Certainly not here…" Pycelle frowned. "But I should like to hear more about the treaty after you've spoken to King Aegon."

"He's not confided in you, either?" Tyrion eyed him.

"You know he does not…Largely at your urging." Pycelle frowned at the little man.

"I've only told him to be cautious around you. But that you were the best man in the kingdom to handle natural philosophical affairs…'Science' as the Occupiers call it. If I wanted to remove you…"

"I accept your apology, my Lord."

"Hardly that, Pycelle. Though for the good of the People, the Kingdom needs us to work together, for now. Not that I trust you."

"Nor I you, little man." Pycelle, nodding gravely. "We shall speak later?" he eyed him.

"After I've spoken with Aegon, yes."

"Very good. Well, again…" Pycelle raised voice as they reached the door and more guards… "A most delightful evening, Minister Lord Hand. Pray give my best to your most gracious Lady."


	6. Chapter 6

Game of Thrones Tales: Back to the Throne Room…

Summary: There's only one solution when Tyrion and Sansa have found the new King as mad as the Mad Targaryen and cynically evil, once on the throne, as Joffrey. So evil he's happily allowed the world to be invaded by unspeakably hideous creatures from some little planet out on the spiral rim of the Galaxy, to secure his reign of terror.

Part VI…

"What did Pycelle want?" Sansa eyed Tyrion on his return as they stood outside the dining hall awaiting a carriage back to their residence.

"As always, to prove his air of frailty and doddering masks the cleverest man in the room." Tyrion shrugged. "I'd say the council is still undecided on that."

"Lord Hand…" Aegon had come in a rush, outpacing his anxious guard to reach them… "I'll wish to speak with you about some critical matters tomorrow morning, before our small Council, say at eight."

"Majesty…" Tyrion bowed.

"Lady…" Aegon turned to Sansa. "You were the most beautiful ornament of the evening, but for my dear Queen. Congratulations, my dear." He kissed her nervous hand.

"Thanks to your Grace…" she nodded.

"See that your husband manages to wake in time. I count on seeing him at eight. Good night to you both…" smile and flourish…As the Kingsguard anxiously took positions round him.

"The new treaty…?" Sansa hissed as they watched the doors close in on Aegon as he returned to the hall.

"Without a doubt…" Tyrion nodded. "It must be quite a concession he's made…" sigh. "And naturally he was persuaded to do it himself without any review or support from us. I imagine the Senator arranged that, he's very good at manipulating Aegon."

"He gets worse all the time, doesn't he?" Sansa, anxiously.

"He does…" Tyrion…Then seeing her worried face… "But, he's no Joffrey, don't worry Sans… He has to act within the Charter, even the Dirters approve of that, for now. They have their set of rules, after all."

"So long as they what they want at no cost…" Sansa noted. "If the day comes we deny them…Like Stannis did…"

"Stannis died a brave man but also a bellowing fool…" Tyrion sighed. "He had courage but that kind of courage was useless in the face of their weapons and what was worse, he took both good people we needed and innocent people who never sought such a death with him."

"You don't need to lie to me, Tyrion…" Sansa frowned. "I know what Aegon is, even if he conceals it better than Joffrey ever could…And I know the Occupiers won't waste a moment on moral niceties if their own interests are threatened. I saw Storm's End and Kings' Landing and Penthos after They got through with them. I know what They are, even if I work for them in some ways and with them and even like a few of them as people. Don't try to paint me a safe and secure world that we both know doesn't exist and never has. All I ask…" she put hand on his arm… "Is that you're honest with me, give me some chance to work with you, and stay with me and love me as long as you can, till you can't. And you know not a few people who'd claim that was more than you deserve." Grin. "Though not me. Not ever. To me, you deserve more than I can ever hope to give."

Music reached them, unfamiliar Dirter music from the soldiers' barracks down the road…

"Do you hear that?" Sansa smiled. "Something about…Love?" he eyed her, having difficulty with the Dirter singer's voice.

"'We found love in a hopeless place…'" she quoted to him.

The carriage pulled up…

"How'd I ever manage to find you in all this…Madness?" Tyrion eyed her as the driver climbed down to open the carriage door.

"We were just lucky…And smart enough to realize it." she beamed, climbing in first, he quickly following.

…

"That Lannister is a pistol…" Senator Hartwell chuckled to the returned for farewells General as they stood, offering farewells to the rest of the departing guests as the King returned…Queen Margaery coming to them after making some final goodbyes to native and Terran friends now heading for the doors.

"That he is…" the General nodded. "And the brightest in the bunch, whatever his height."

"Yeah…Hopefully bright enough to remain with us…" the Senator noted.

"I hope so, Senator." The General agreed, coming to attention as the King approached, Margeary taking his arm from the side.

"Gentlemen? I wanted to thank you again for a lovely evening." Aegon smiled.

"Our pleasure, Your Graces." The General nodded. "Thanks for accepting our hospitality."

"Margaery? I'd like one last word with our friends , can I join you in a moment?"

"Of course, darling…" Margaery smiled. "Good evening, gentlemen. Senator, I am sorry your wife didn't feel up to coming out again from Earth."

"She feels badly about it, too, Your Majesty." The Senator nodded thanks. Margaery beaming and heading off, her guards and ladies trailing.

"A fine lady… Spittin' image of a Queen." the Senator noted to Aegon who smiled.

"Isn't she?" he nodded. "Her family isn't entirely pleased that she's with me…"

"That's always a shame…" the Senator noted kindly.

"Yes. I fear one day…"Aegon eyed both… "They will show their teeth and have to have a taste of what was given to the last of the Usurper's race, Stannis and his Lannister whore. Who felt the bite and burn of an even sharper Dragon than that of Danerys and our ancestors. You of Earth, my true Dragons." He beamed eagerly. "With you at my side, they and all my enemies will be crushed." His eyes gleaming.

"Well, now…As always son, we stand ready to support the legitimate government…Always…" the Senator noted calmly. "But we'd like to keep any bloodlettin' to a minimum. These things are usually best handled by you locals, with us to help keep things peaceable and open."

"We'd prefer no disruptions, your Highness. Though of course we stand with you, as the legitimate ruler by consent and treaty, of your people." The General eyed Aegon with a steady gaze. The younger man calming.

"Yes, of course…If peace can be maintained, I want that most, for my people." Nod.

"Then we're all agreed." The Senator nodded benevolently. "But you keep an eye out for trouble and let us know if anything gets stirred up, son. We'll be here for you and yours…For all you folk."

"Yes." Aegon beamed, nodding. "My friends, sent by the gods from the heavens." He smiled. "But such is the talk of children, forgive me. About the treaty…" he'd calmed completely now. "I find it interesting that my Lord Hand should have learnt of it so quickly…To his credit as an able minister of my government."

"Tyrion's a sharp sob." the Senator smiled. "A credit to you, your Highness."

"Yes. He's been a good friend and a loyal ally…Brought me the Lannister power when I needed it . A fine and clever friend." Aegon nodded. "But I should like to know how he acquired the information…"

"A good spymaster don't tell, son." The Senator chuckled. "But, you being the boss…You're entitled to find out. I'm sure he'd tell you…Probably glad to show off a little."

"Yes, I am entitled to know…" Aegon nodded. "And my good Hand will tell me, he always does. I count on him, gentlemen and he has never failed me."

"That's good, your Highness. Lannister seems a man you can rely on." The General nodded. "But if you do learn how he found out about the treaty so quickly, we'd like to know as well. Could be some holes in our set up we need to patch up." Smile.

"'Patch up'?" Aegon stared, smiling at last as he pondered the expression. "Yes, very good. 'Patch up', that's very good. Well, I'll discuss it with Tyrion tomorrow and see what he can tell me. Until tomorrow, gentlemen?"

"Your Grace…" the General nodded. The Senator smiling indulgently. "Let the little feller know we didn't mean to keep anything from him, just wanted to thresh the details of the thing first, before it gets 'discussed' up and every which way."

"Yes, certainly…" Aegon nodded, turning as Margaery now came to him.

"Darling? About ready?" she smiled at him.

"Yes, all the boring bits done…" Aegon nodded, warm smile to her beaming face.

"Yeah, we've kept His Majesty long enough…" the Senator smiled. "I know I should be heading off to bed and give Mollie a call if I can get through."

"All the way to Earth? I still find that so remarkable." Margaery beamed. "Isn't it so, Aegon?"

"Yes, indeed." He nodded. "But our Terran friends are full of wonders."

"As are you and your people, Your Grace." The General noted, bowing slightly. "Your Majesties…If I may take my leave, I'll follow the Senator's good example."

"Good night to you both. And thank you." Aegon nodded to the Terrans' bows. Margaery offering a gracious hand to each.

"That was a very nice evening…" she noted to Aegon as they headed back to the entrance as quickly as the presence of the Kingsguard and Terran Security forces and the farewells of the remaining party-goers, native and Occupier, would allow.

"Yes, it was. Tyrion was in fine form." Aegon noted, rather jovially. Smiling broadly to several old friends and courtiers as they moved along.

"Car for the King!" a Dirter officer called to the duty officer at the great door to the dining hall.

"But Pycelle seems to have left early…" Aegon continued. "I wonder if he's ill."

"I think he's getting too old for this sort of thing." Margaery noted.

"Tyrion says he's a shrewd old fox…And not nearly so decrepit as he makes out. And he even got him to admit it at the last small Council I attended. He is actually a rather spry old fellow." Aegon grinned.

"You look happy, Aegon…I'm glad." Margaery patted his arm. "I know these last years have been a terrible strain."

"They have…On all of us, all my poor people groaning under tyrants, waiting for a Targaryen, a true prince of the Dragon, to set them free."

"Indeed." She nodded, carefully. "And now you have." She smiled. "You've saved your people and now you just have to help them ."

"And I will…" Aegon nodded. "Be assured Margaery, my Queen, my worthy Queen…I will help them free themselves from the last of their woes. My Kingdom and their world will be completely free and secure. And no one will be allowed to stop me in that quest." He nodded, hastily. "I am the Dragon who will free the world." Excitedly...

"Aegon…" Margaery cautioned. He calming at once. She raised voice…"Our car is here."

"Hmmn? Yes. Our car…" Aegon nodded. "I love riding in this thing…" he indicated the car. "It's like what being on a dragon must have felt. I'm so glad you can enjoy that too, Margeary…Riding the Dragon." Excited look, then a boyishly teasing smile. "But, you do every night." He grinned, she returning.


	7. Chapter 7

Game of Thrones Tales: Back to the Throne Room…

Summary: There's only one solution when Tyrion and Sansa have found the new King as mad as the Mad Targaryen and cynically evil, once on the throne, as Joffrey. So evil he's happily allowed the world to be invaded by unspeakably hideous creatures from some little planet out on the spiral rim of the Galaxy, to secure his reign of terror.

Part VII…

"Tyrion…" Sansa coming to consciousness with her ingrained Stark sense of duty on first sound of the alarm clock. One of the lesser but hideous "joys" imposed by their benefactors, Tyrion liked to joke when not groaning at the sound. She reached to find…Nothing…

"I'm up…" She heard his voice from across the room. "Been up for a hour." Sigh…

She looked over to see him at desk, indeed fully dressed…Eyeing the glowing screen of his laptop computer, given out as aid from the Occupiers to the government to assist in better organizing the realm. For the better exploitation thereof, Tyrion would grimly note, although he had to grant the things were useful once one got the hang of them. Though he'd had to carefully disabuse those in his circle of "friends" now enthusiastically computer-and-net literate from using the new Westeros net for any sensitive communications. It wasn't magic and the system was very much capable of being monitored, whatever the Dirters insisted about the "privileged right" of free speech. Like their commitment to "non-interference" or "equal justice" for natives and their own or the continued "complete independence" of the societies they encountered, the concept was both "relative" and "flexible", particularly in times of crises…The definition of "crisis" being reserved of course, to them.

"Why?" she called, a bit annoyed.

If my little one's that energetic this morn, there are better things to spend his time on…Namely me, she grinned to herself, slightly blushing…She still did that, occasionally.

If anyone had told me a few years ago that I'd be pouting because Tyrion Lannister had left my bed…

"I wanted to check on the situation up North before the Council meeting today…" he noted. "And you deserved a little extra rest, without that foul imp pawing at you…"

"Tyrion!" she snapped, annoyed.

"Sorry." Sigh.

"It's not funny when you mock yourself like that…And mock me too." She frowned. "I don't appreciate my heart being dismissed like that, you know." She swung legs over the floor and sat up.

He looked over. "I am sorry, Sans…You're right." Apologetic tone.

"You could prove it by coming back here and pawing at me…" she grinned.

"Excellent idea. Just let me set this little report of mine to print…" he clicked the mouse to start the printer.

"Amazing thing…Though I can't help wondering how many forests go down now to make these little miracles possible." He eyed the paper issuing from the printer and rose from his chair.

"Stop being Tyrionly morose and come back here…I want you." She insisted. "And you can tell me of your brilliant report on the defense of the realm, Mr. Defense Minister and Lord Hand."

"Indeed. I was hoping you'd edit it." He noted, taking the paper from the printer and carrying it over with him to the bed. "There's new rumors of Mother Love and her children in the North…"

"After…" she insisted, putting hand to his mouth, setting his sheets on the small bedside table. "Thanks to your burst of industry we've got an extra hour. So, paw, my imp…" grin.

"Wicked, wicked girl…" he sighed, smiling.

…

The Wall…

Still the Wall, the great Ice Wall, created centuries ago to guard the North…A wonder even to the Dirters who marveled at how the natives, with their primitive tech could have ever assembled such a thing. Like the Pyramids back on Earth, some frequently noted…Or the Great Wall of Porcelain…China…China, that's it…Lord Jon Stark, Warden of His Majesty's Watchers, Guardian Commander of the Night's Watch, and Keeper of the one Dragon corrected.

Not that any of these grand titles really mattered much now…He reflected as he toured the Wall with his visitor, a Dirter scholar of some sort…Historian…Yes…Who'd begged a chance to see the Wall with its famed Commander.

"So, you served here since the very start of the last great civil war on the continent, is that right?" the scholar, pulling his heated suit a bit tighter round him and trying to avoid the gust of icy wind now howling over them…A "Doctor Sin…Clair." Sinclair, yes…Who'd seemed to think his being born on a Dirter colony rather than Dirt itself made him brother to those he encountered in Westeros.

One of those "oh, call me Jack…" Dirters who seemed to think a friendly smile, upbeat attitude, and willingness to repress some of the condescension was all that was needed to "smooth over" any bad feelings about the massacres and the occupation.

Still, Gods know he'd put up with worse, from his own…And the man was honestly curious about things here. A tall, fair-haired man, oddly reminding him of Jamie Lannister, the arrogant Kingslayer of old, though the Jamie as he'd last seen him, another weary refugee …His only difference, in appearance at least, being he and his rather oddly matched mate were of those few trudging North rather than South.

"Yes, since the start of the Five Kings' War." Jon agreed.

"And you signed on here, for life, is that right?"

"That's always been our way in the Night's Watch." Jon noted, a bit stiffly, eyeing the Dirter whom he had to admit seemed genuinely impressed.

"Yes, so I've been told. That's quite a commitment, especially up here." Sinclair nodded. "Tell me, though, not many are left…Were there many when you signed on?"

Jon sighed. "Not that many though it seems like compared to now…"

Now, when our duties seem more to be acting as guides to any Dirter or friend of the Occupiers looking to see the great wonder of the Wall…

Still, fair's fair…First time I came, it was for the legends of the wonder of this place and the stories Uncle would tell. And it was a tourist wonder even then…I remember when little Tyrion Lannister, now the mighty Hand and Minister of Defense for the kingdom of Westeros…And more or less my superior, under no less than the King himself…Came here, wanting to piss off the Eighth Wonder of the World.

Though now we boast two of the world's wonders…He noted, wryly.

"…Barely a thousand then…Though we did our duty and held the Wall."

"And now?" the scholar asked, keen look as they walked.

"Now, those of us left still guard. And hold the Wall, against marauders, smugglers…"

"Refugees mostly, now, right?"

Jon tensed just slightly, pausing…

The question and questioner seemed innocent enough…And the Dirters weren't known for their subtlety in asking for intelligence.

"Quite a few…" he nodded. "But that was always the case. Though now, transit is allowed, if they've no record of criminal violence." He resumed walking, Sinclair staying at his side.

"I can see why a lot of the ones North of here would want to be headed south." Dr. Sinclair smiled. "I've spent two years in Siberia on Earth and six months on Altair IV in the northern wastes but this seems worse. Maybe cause it seems like it should be livable out there, but isn't."

"It's hardly that bad now…" Jon shrugged. "With your vehicles and heaters and clothing…"

"Well, I mean more the animals…And the virus…" Sinclair noted.

Jon looked at the scholar.

"You people cured the virus…And killed the Walkers who refused treatment…And wouldn't stop fighting." He hesitated.

"Not always checking to see if they were restored and simply not willing to submit to oversight." Sinclair nodded. "It wasn't always handled well, a lot of us weren't happy about that."

'Not handled well'…Jon thought, keeping a noncommittal expression… Turning to wave his lantern as another watcher passed, raising his in salutation. He waved, then turned back to face Sinclair who seemed to be awaiting his answer…

These people and their euphemisms. No wonder ole Tyrion enjoys sparrin' with them so much.

"No, not always." He finally nodded. "Though the Walkers did kill or worse than kill a lot of our folk, including people I knew. I've no great sympathy for those who wouldn't accept the cure."

"A lot of them were rather deranged…Still, at least quite a number were helped." Sinclair paused. "What's your take on that, Lord Stark? Having fought them and as you say, had friends killed by them."

"I've seen what their virus did to my friends." Jon sighed. "I'm grateful it's gone. As for the survivors, if I take your meaning that you want to know what I think of them? Most of them are just people, like any other, even if some of them think they were better off then."

"The older ones were very long-lived…" Sinclair noted. "I suppose it seems to them they've lost a kind of immortality."

"It came at too high a price…" Jon, firmly. "If you want me to say I'm grateful to you people…I am…For ending that nightmare." His voice rising above the wind…He exceeding what he'd want to allow himself… "But there are some things…"

"It's only natural you resent the changes we've brought. Not all of us are happy about that, either." Sinclair noted.

"Well…Life changes…" Jon shrugged. "It wasn't so long ago I was called Snow and was not but Ned Stark's bastard son. Now, I'm the recognized head of the family and a Stark by name."

"Lord Edduard Stark, the man whose execution started the last war…" Sinclair eyed him.

"Yes. But if you're seeking the family history, you've come to the wrong Stark. My brothers at Winterfell and their people could tell you more."

"I've spoken to them. They and the other North Lords told me a great deal. He was quite a man, by all accounts."

"He was." Jon, firmly. "It's right that his murder brought the bitch Queen and her bastard down…"

"King Joffrey I…I've heard he was quite the Caligula…Pardon…" Sinclair smiled at Jon's puzzled frown. "'Little boots' as it translates was a mad emperor of one of our great Earth empires, thousands of years ago…He was infamous for the way he enjoyed killing and torturing his victims. His father's soldiers gave him the name as a boy when he marched with them."

"That sounds like Joffrey…" Jon nodded.

"So you see, our worlds aren't all that different in their history." Sinclair, wry shrug. "I keep seeing similar patterns on human/humanoid worlds…We all seem to develop along the same lines, much as I keep hoping to find something different."

Jon, curious now… "You've seen many worlds?"

"About thirty habitable ones, most of them colony worlds that never evolved advanced species…" he paused. "…though I guess some of the native life there might think differently. A few very different worlds, with life that took pretty strange courses."

"Must be quite a life…And you weren't born on your home world."

"Dirt?" Sinclair grinned. "No. I know you folks get rather a kick out of pronouncing it that way." Chuckle. "Some of us on the colony worlds feel a bit the same way."

"They say it's a beautiful place…"

"It took the resources of fifty other worlds to do it, but yeah…They made it quite beautiful again." Nod. "I've been there, lived there for grad school…When I took my advanced degree." He explained.

"But you prefer to travel…?" Jon, shrewdly.

"I like to see what's out here…And learn how it got to be that way." Nod.

"And our role in making it so…Especially the damage we do." He stopped. "Some of us, in the colonies and on Earth are concerned about that, Jon…Lord Stark. "

…


	8. Chapter 8

Game of Thrones Tales: Back to the Throne Room…

Summary: There's only one solution when Tyrion and Sansa have found the new King as mad as the Mad Targaryen and cynically evil, once on the throne, as Joffrey. So evil he's happily allowed the world to be invaded by unspeakably hideous creatures from some little planet out on the spiral rim of the Galaxy, to secure his reign of terror.

Part VIII…

The young woman in noble robes, carefully "made up" in Terran cosmetics, beamed out at her audience...Carefully following instructions to look at the red dot and smile, though far less nervous, Sansa noted, then she'd been at the first Council broadcast…

She frowned, adjusting the projected image. There…Sansa sat back in her chair, the image now sharp and large on the bedroom wall before her. The brunette young woman smiling in her seat as she gazed out at the world via what Sansa knew was a rather small box with cylinder rather like the optic tube she'd once seen used to stare at distances and the heavens.

"Good morning Westeros and welcome to the Westeros Network News broadcast coverage of the weekly meeting of the Council of Ministers of the United Kingdom of Westeros. I'm Lady Janine Melwyn live from the Council chamber where our King and His Ministers will shortly meet to review the current state of affairs for the Kingdom. But first, after a word from our gracious sponsors, the Tyrell Corporation of Highgarden, building new infrastructure and modern housing for Westeros…And the Microsoft Corporation of E'arth, bringing you the latest technologies from across the stars to bring your life into a new era of peace and prosperity, the news." Lady Janine pausing, with barely noticeable glance to her Dirter director off camera…Sansa frowning as the Tyrells' commercial message began, featuring long-winded praise of their efforts for the Kingdom's and the World's good.

Have to admit the Dirters at least have amusing commercial messages…If hard sometimes even for a skilled linguist like herself to follow, minus cultural references.

For example, she still wasn't quite sure why a half-naked Dirter woman, clearly a prostitute by Westeros standards, behaving lewdly in one of their mechanical carriages should be a necessary inducement to purchase such a wonder…Though only a future claim on such, there not yet being production facilities set up and importation from Dirt or her subject worlds too expensive for all but those prominent enough to receive such as a gift from the Terran government.

"Watch the Big Bang Theory and NOVA, on TV Westeros and Westeros net, starting at eight, followed by the new hit comedy, locally produced…" Lady Janine, a note of pride… "The Butterbumps Follies" starring that irrepressible master of wit, Petyr Butterbumps…Brought to you by House Tyrell."

Lords, thought Sansa, smiling a bit…If poor ole Littlefinger only knew dear Butterbumps the Clown had taken Petyr for a first name?…Or had it actually always been his first name?

But, if he'd only known that she, his reluctant pupil, had heeded his lessons on dissembling and concealment of one's true feelings, he might not today lie in an unmarked grave, far below the Eyrie's Moon Door.

"And now, the newest…The News…" Lady Janine, solemnly. Sansa ignoring the rather dull reports of local crime and punishment…She got better and better told such direct from Tyrion…

Lady Janine, former lady-in-waiting turned News reader…Quite a step up in some ways, Sansa noted. In others, perhaps not so much…

Though one of her most diligent pupils, one had to give her that. She being determined to nail the Dirters' E'nglish as well as master various Essosian dlalects. She hoped to soon be allowed to do real reporting from the "field" she'd noted eagerly to Sansa at their most recent lesson.

"Of battle?" Sansa, puzzled.

"The scene of action…A good journalist should be at the scene, getting information at the source." Lady Janine had insisted.

Hmmn…

Well, she was eager…Though one might wonder if the Dirters might really be expected to allow her to "report" the true story of the original Occupation and Stannis' Rebellion one day…Or the more insidious tale of the current and ever tightening grip of the Dirters.

Doubtful, whatever the Dirters might earnestly mouth about their commitment to freedom and justice.

"In news from the North…" Lady Janine caught her attention… "Reports from the far North suggest that the marauding band of raiders and brigands led by the so-called Queen of the Far, Mother Love, are still active though in hiding and under pursuit by Westeros and Terran forces. A depot at the Watcher fortress of the Fist was attacked and looted last night about eleven o'clock local time with weapons and food supplies taken. No casualties were reported but Night's Watch Commander Jon Stark told Westeros News that the Night's Watch were making every effort to bring the raiders to justice while avoiding bloodshed."

"Jon…" Sansa beamed at the image of Jon in his Commander's black garb, talking to what must have been a camera as he tried to seem comfortable talking…From what she judged must be the courtyard of the Black Keep…

"We've no proof as yet it was Mother Love's raiders but based on their past activities we're assuming it's likely, my Lady." Jon was noting, carefully.

"Gods, he's gone and got handsome, our poor Jon." She told the young direwolf, Meerys, now at her feet. Tyrion's second anniversary gift to her, taken in the far North, no doubt with Jon's help.

But he and Jon had always hit it off, somehow…

She'd written to him then, trying to sound loving and even as light-hearted as she could…Like the true sister Arya had been to him. Tyrion had told her there was no need…And after all that had passed for each of them, no ability…To apologize for her coolness to him in past days. "Just be a good sister to him now, that's what matters." He'd noted.

Right and wise, as always…And Jon had responded with a kind letter and come, at his first chance, to see them and tell of his adventures. And he had seemed to need her…To need what was left of his family…To be as "normal" as one could be after the disasters that had taken so much from them all.

It comforted her more than she'd realized for a long time, that he'd agreed at Rickon's and Bran's request, seconded by her, and at long interval by Arya's letter, the first they'd had in years, to take his proper Stark name and assume the leadership of the family, though he'd insisted Winterfell go to Sansa or Arya or Rickon as they wished. He would not, though he'd been granted the chance to, break his vows beyond the assumption of the name and handling as best he could, some of the formal business of leadership of the Stark clan. Still, there he was, Commander of the Night's Watch and till Rickon reached age, head of the House Stark. Father and Robb would be profoundly proud…And even Mother, Gods rest her, would, Sansa truly believed, be pleased.

Of course, poor dear, he was totally unnerved by the attempt to strike the proper pose for his interview. But he did look grand…And well. And still young enough, when she and the boys and perhaps one day, when she finally found herself, Arya, could persuade him to avail himself of the chance, to marry and father a new line of Starks. When Winter came and he and Tyrion and others, probably Arya as well and perhaps even she, finally freed the world of the Terrans and their mad puppet King.

She believed they would, she told herself. She had to. It was that or die…Slowly, choking on the pollution and filth of the Terran factories and mines and being worked to death both here, on the world, and elsewhere, among the stars the Dirters had stolen for themselves…Or quickly, in one or a few desperate battles, totally overmatched, with the Dirters taking a hideous vengeance, the same they meted out to others who'd defied them.

"We do hope, my Lady…" Jon was saying now… "That these raiders will peaceably accept that they are free to go where they wish and live as they wish, so long as they remain in contact, follow the laws of the realm, and allow us to see no possible trace of the Walker virus rises among them. If I could, I would say to them…And their leader…That the government has no quarrel with them that can't be resolved. But, if they persist in raids and banditry, the Night's Watch will do what's needed to protect the realm."

"That was Commander of the Night's Watch, Lord Jon Stark, speaking to us from the Great Northern Wall regarding the recent raids of the marauding wildling raiders." Lady Janine noted. "Their leader, the mysterious 'Mother Love' still remains a rather mythic figure…Known only by vague reports from those raiders captured and stories passed round by the folk of the far North provinces. Some claiming the name merely represents an old goddess of the North, others a real woman. But it's reported that her followers maintain a devoted loyalty to her name regardless. Moving onto other news, at the Realm's Allotment of Riverrun…"

Mother Love…Sansa sighed. Poor Tyrion's minor headache as well as Jon's…And potentially his useful ally if not his worst nemesis.

Though she doubted the potential for anything useful or good coming from a Dirter renegade and the poor deluded fools following her…Even if Tyrion had voiced occasional, rather wan, hopes her claims to be a champion of the People might have merit.

Well, it could be worse, she'd wryly told him the last time they'd spoken of the Dirter…Her fanatic movement and anarchic bands might be threatening everything Tyrion and the Resistance was trying to accomplish in the far North…

But at least her wild sister and her own band of assassins hadn't joined them…

….

Even as Lady Janine completed her report, Lord Tyrion was giving his own, special report, to King Aegon in his personal chamber, near the Council chamber where sat the battered but reshaped remains of the old Iron Throne…

Knowing Aegon would insist…Politely, even kindly…But determinedly insist…On knowing how word…And detailed word…Of the new treaty on land allotment and resource development with the Occupiers had gotten out, Tyrion had resolved to give as much honest information as he'd dared while avoiding anything that would implicate Margeary or Sansa and others.

"I've been concerned about the health of the workers in Riverrun for some time now, Aegon…" Tyrion making careful use of his right to address his King and good friend by name. "There were rumors among the workers and supervisors…You and Kach were seen touring. I asked about, a few of the junior staff among the Occupiers are always willing to talk, they're not inclined to concealment."

"I see…" Aegon nodded. "The General may request names, Tyrion. I'll see no one is punished but naturally he'll want to see no more leaks occur. If this got into the wrong hands, there might be foolish protests, deluded attempts at an outcry…" He put up a friendly hand to Tyrion's effort to interrupt. "I know you need information and I apologize you weren't informed immediately. But the Senator and the Chairman felt those poor people still unhappy about their presence might try to blow this new step forward into some sort of excuse for another outcry against our friends…My allies."

"I'm aware of such danger, your Grace. I've always been careful to keep such information under my wing." Tyrion noted. "I dislike the notion of false rumors getting out and stirring up trouble as much as you. It just helps me in curbing some of these if I have up-to-date information and know what to do to counter any misinformation."

"Yes, yes…As you should, Minister. Quite right." Aegon, a bit absently… "I want you to know I did not mean to imply any aspersions on your ability or loyalty."

"None were taken, your Grace." Tyrion bowed.

"I'm intending to inform the Council as soon as the Chairman feels it's safe to do so…" Aegon noted.

Yes, after it's too late even to make a feeble protest or at least request a chance to study the impact…Tyrion thought.

"I see Mother Love and her crazed followers are again stirring things up, up North." Aegon eyed him.

"They have been a nuisance recently, your Grace." Tyrion nodded.

"Can Jon Stark handle her? Perhaps I should lead an army to his assist?" Aegon suggested, a slight gleam…

"At this time, your Grace…" Tyrion calmly and smoothly, but hastily… "I feel it would be best to keep this to a smaller force…Not to provoke the wildlings who've onl y recently accepted truce and peace."

Gods, the last thing we need…An army, backed by a Dirter force, rampaging…Stumbling, really…Through the far North…And uncovering everything we've managed to secure up there, to await the Winter.

"Perhaps you're right. Though I would dearly love to see the far North…Perhaps you could arrange a royal visit with Commander Stark?"

"With pleasure, your Grace. I know Commander Stark would welcome the honor."

Gods know it would be far better you and a royal circus than the alternative…

"I doubt that…" Aegon, rather charming, open smile. "Jon's not the type to enjoy fanfare…One of the best things about my Lord Commander."

"True enough, your Grace." Tyrion smiled, nodding. "But, if I brought Sansa, perhaps even Rickon…And we kept it to a minimum of fuss…"

"Right…" Aegon nodded. "Though it would be good to highlight the need to bolster the Watch and obtain more recruits. But We shall try to keep it bearable for our old friend." Renewed smile. "Perhaps we'll get to do a bit of hunting up there, eh?"

"You might…" Tyrion smiled… "But you know me, I'll be sitting on the Wall, enjoying their vintage ale and pontificating to poor Jon on ways to reinforce the damned thing, casting myself as engineer and architect of the greatest structure our people have ever built." Chuckle…

Aegon responding merrily… "Well, Jon and I will get you out at least once…Sansa will appreciate a new fur coat." Grin.

"Things I do for love of wife…And King." Tyrion sighed, with smile.

"Settled then…Speak to Jon and promise him I'll keep the fuss limited. Shall we go join the Council?" he rose.

"With all my heart…" Tyrion nodded.

Especially since the mass invasion of the far North has shrunk to a royal hunting party…Tyrion thought, relieved.

Though if Mother Love is not dealt with soon, we may need part of that army…Hopefully safely in the hands of good Jon Stark.


	9. Chapter 9

Game of Thrones Tales: Back to the Throne Room…

Summary: There's only one solution when Tyrion and Sansa have found the new King as mad as the Mad Targaryen and cynically evil, once on the throne, as Joffrey. So evil he's happily allowed the world to be invaded by unspeakably hideous creatures from some little planet out on the spiral rim of the Galaxy, to secure his reign of terror.

Part IX…

Maoooo… A long moaning bellow…

Sudden stirring caused the source of the bellowing, a somewhat distressed pregnant cow to back off in fright…While leaving a gift behind.

"Ahhhhgggh…" the voice of a young woman, rising out of the straw of the rather battered barn stall.

"Thanks so much, milady…" she fumed at the retreating cow who'd calmly returned to munching on her breakfast feed. The woman wiping at the bit of mess on her sleeve…Groaning as she found she'd just stepped into a far larger pile.

"Mercedene"…A hissed call from the barn door…She looked over to see the chubby boy at the door.

"Pie…What did you find?" she moved to the door, cautiously opening.

"Bread…" he handed over a loaf of bread. "A bit of coin was on the kitchen table too…" he handed her a few coppers. "And…" grin… "This…" He handed over a cell phone. She eyed it.

"So…These aren't just 'ordinary farm folk, just startin' to rebuild their lives'…" she mimicked the words of the rather young farmer's wife who'd agreed to let them spend the night in her barn in exchange for the boy's wood-chopping and "Mercedene"'s fetching stream water and helping with the cows the afternoon before, the woman's husband being away to market.

"Guess not unless the Dirters are givin' these things away now…" the boy nodded at the phone his companion held.

I could reach them with this…She thought, eyeing the device. I could call Jon or Sansa… Tell them I am back, here in Westeros.

Of course the Dirters would hear, they surely monitor every conversation on these things...Though they might find it confusing… To hear the sister of the wife of the Defense Minister and Hand pleasantly informing her sister or her half-brother that, yes, she was indeed quite well and in Westeros, traveling. Really, given Arya Stark was officially guilty of nothing…In fact would be a welcome guest in the capitol, it wouldn't be any major difficulty…

Mercedene, on the other hand…Actress, inn-servant…Prostitute, at least by reputation in some places, though thankfully she'd managed to kill all clients before any deeds of darkness were done as yet…Undocumented Bravvosian…Wanted murderess. Now she, if identified, would have problems with both the Dirters and the Westeros guardians of the peace.

"Ar…Mercedene…" the boy hissed. "Mistress Hanuk'll be up soon, I'm sure…It's late for a farmer now."

"Ay…" Arya nodded. "But she's no farmer's wife."

"I done tole you that…" he frowned. "Her hands are a lady's, didn't I say?"

"Not a lady's…" Arya shook head. "She's one of them."

"A Dirter? Bloody hell…She don't smell like one." The boy shook head. "And why would a Dirter pretend to be some nobody farmer's wife?"

"That's what worries me…" Arya noted. "Pie, I don't think we ought to be goin' just yet. I want to know why this Dirter wants to play at being one of us."

"But here…" Pie frowned. "How do you know she's a Dirter? Maybe she's just some small lord's girl who needed a place, met a farmer who could put food on the table and was glad to have him. What's the proof?"

"Soft hands, this…" Arya held up the cell… "No spy of our kind out here, even for them, would need such and it would be a give away…And while she's good, she has a little trouble with the language."

"Still not proof…She said she wasn't from the North. People have accents and trouble with the lingo."

"Call my girl's intuition then…And I want proof. There's gotta a good reason a Dirter agent good enough to pass for one of us would be out here in the middle of nowhere, but just south of the Wall…" she pondered. "Hot Pie…" she turned to the boy.

He frowned. "We agreed it was to be either my taken name Pault or Pie…I've a real name now, Pault Pie, Lady Stark."

She frowned in turn…Well then? His look said.

"Pie, fine." She looked away.

"I'd do you better to call you Stark or Arya, you know. Mercedene will get you hung if you're caught."

"I'll be Arya Stark when I choose to be, not sooner, if ever again. I'm Mercedene and leave it at that."

"Fine…" he shrugged. "But if we're not to go…Now. I've got to get these things back before the lady rises and finds them missin'."

"Yeah." She eyed the cell. "Wait…These things keep the memory of whomever they called, for a while at least…That's what I've seen, anyway."

"Redial." Hot Pie noted, a bit smugly. "And they have a calls list…Incoming, outgoing…"

"You're quite the expert…" she eyed him, amused at his air.

"I've seen a few used…And I'm not so stupid I can't learn a few things. It's not nearly so complicated as a good recipe." He noted. As she pressed keys and eyed the screen. "Look for the incoming list.." he insisted.

"There's the last…" she eyed the screen, repeating the numbers of the last three calls to herself, then pressing on the final, most recent, raising the cell to hear.

"Section…" An accented voice spoke in her ear as she held the phone. "Password?"

"Sorry, I accidentally dropped the phone. Nothing to report." Arya told the phone. Closing quickly.

Hmmn…She looked to see Hot Pie shaking head. "Mercedene."

"Lets hope they're satisfied with it being an accident." She shrugged, handing him the phone. "Take it back…And the bread…" she eyed the loaf reluctantly. "Start sweepin' the kitchen, I'll be there soon."

"Then what? We make her talk?" Hot Pie, a bit too eagerly, annoying her.

"You've been watching those Dirter things again…" she noted.

"The Maltese Falcon…It was great…Bogie…" he grinned, affecting what he took to be a Humphrey Bogart pose. Fixed stare, strange movement of the lips. "Saw it in the town square three nights ago…For the third time…'The uh…stuff that dreams are made of'…" he quoted.

She rolled eyes… "Well, what we do is ask her if she might let us stay on and help out, for food and lodging, at least till we get word of my husband…And her equally false husband returns."

"What if he does…Return?" Hot Pie noted. "He could be real, unlike your wandering Ser Nobody…"

"Fine thing to say about your Lord, boy." She eyed him. "If a 'husband' or whatever shows for her, we accept him and find out what we can. This could be important, Pie."

"I guess…But do you think it wise to keep using your wanted name?" he pointed out. "Sooner or later someone who knows Mercedene the Bravvosian is wanted for murder and theft is going to show…"

"And who was it who called me Mercedene when we knocked at her door?" Arya eyed him coldly.

"Too many names...And you said to use Mercedene till you said otherwise? How was I to know? And what name would I come up with? Lady HotPie? Mistress Needle?"

"That would have been good, the latter." Arya noted, slight smile. "But for Gods' sake don't use it now…Stick to Mercedene. It's not an uncommon name. Just don't mention I'm from Bravvos. We'll be fine. I've no Bravvosian accent, eh?"

"No…" he admitted.

"Right then, go. Unless you've the sense at last to leave here and go back to Lannisterport." She eyed him.

"I said I'd stay with you and I meant it." He frowned. "I don't go and…Do what we did…Casual, like your Lords. I'm your man, long as you want me. And if you're fighting them, so am I."

"What lords…?" she glared. "No 'lord''s ever been nearer me than the length of me sword, you think I'd lie about that?"

"No."

"Well, then…Go take the things before the grand lady wakes, sweep up the kitchen, and give her fair smiles till I get there." She kissed him.

"Pault" she said, just a bit shyly. He nodding and hurrying off.

Gods forgive me me sin, keep my poor Pie safe, she breathed.

The new prayer that had even upstaged her ole list of the desired dead…Now expanded to include a number of Terrans. She brushed at her gown, a simple one but just elegant enough to be the faded and patched gown of a lady forced upon some hard times. Traveling the roads for news of her lost husband with her one remaining faithful retainer…

Of course, personally, she couldn't see such a one as having a one in twenty chance of surviving, even in these somewhat less ravaged times, even if she could and were willing to act and take any job at hand. But, it did sound romantic enough to win a little sympathy from time to time…

A Dirter, based as some sort of observer spy, just south of the Wall…? What could there be here that would interest them so as to make such an effort? And why one of their own, with all the chance of exposure?

Still, she'd trained in Bravvos under rather similar unusual circumstances…Perhaps that was what this was? Training?

But what would a people with such power as the Dirters need of such subtle measures? Unless they'd come to believe all those so willing to assist their occupation forces were untrustworthy. Unless they were smarter than we'd come to take them for in such matters. Meaning everything…And everyone...Fighting them might be in jeopardy.

Whatever the case…She'd have to find out. It was her assignment, a bit more complex than the usual simple assassination. And the client being family…

Gods…Tyrion Lannister…My family…

Even…Beloved family, at least on Sansa's account…And Jon's, she noted. They both vouched for him, Sansa with desperate pleading, that night she'd at last had a visit from her long-lost sister…When Arya had offered as a sisterly favor, to add the name of the imp who defiled her sister to her list and Sansa had begged, then threatened, then offered her own life…To Arya's stunned shock.

My Sansa, ready to kill or die for the love of Tyrion Lannister…Well…At least Tyrion had found the whole thing amusing…

Finding him to be head of what organized global resistance existed to the Occupation had not stunned her nearly so much…

Just pray neither of them ever learned who one of the agents the Faceless Men had sent in response to Tyrion's request for intelligence assistance was. Bran and Rickon might take it in stride but poor Sans and Jon had, after all, had had enough to worry them already…

…..…..


	10. Chapter 10

Game of Thrones Tales: Back to the Throne Room…

Summary: There's only one solution when Tyrion and Sansa have found the new King as mad as the Mad Targaryen and cynically evil, once on the throne, as Joffrey. So evil he's happily allowed the world to be invaded by unspeakably hideous creatures from some little planet out on the spiral rim of the Galaxy, to secure his reign of terror.

Part X…

"We're back at the Council Chamber of the United Kingdom of Westeros …" Lady Janine began, beaming to the camera's red dot. "The Ministers have arrived as you can see up front on the dais…" she paused to let the camera take in the group on the dais moving to stand by their various chairs… Guards of their various Houses or of the Citadel's Maesters standing by each… "And the Councilors of the Kingdoms are entering now…" the camera moving to show as many of the entering Councilors, taking their own seats in the hall at various tables…The various surviving and new leaders of those Houses not among the Ministers of the Realm, and the elected Representatives of the People one selected from each of the Seven Original Kingdoms and the new Republic of the Far North, where no hereditary, ancient or as result of the wars, new House ruled.

If one could call any of them…"Rulers"…Tyrion thought as he stood by his chair…A modest one, undistinguished from the other Ministers except by its proximity to the battered Iron throne.

"On the dais you see Lord Hand of the King and Minister of Defense, Tyrion Lannister with Minister of Finance Tyrell ..." Lady Janine continued.

Tyrion nodding to Mace Tyrell's smiling nod as Tyrell stood next to him…

The old survivor, Tyrion thought…With some degree of amusement…

Whatever one may think of him personally…One must give him that…He has survived. Seen his daughter keep the throne he coveted for her and his House. And kept his Highgarden more or less intact through all the war and disaster of these grim, awful years. And though he may feel the loss of his mother, that wise old witch, keenly, he actually is a rather able man in what matters he's allowed to deal with. Of course the Dirters control all the new resources…And he…And to be fair, most of us, wouldn't comprehend much of what they do or take, but all the old financial dealings, supplemented just a bit by the new global trades, our relations with Danerys ' Cities, the Iron Bank, to the degree it's still able to function, he handles with a certain finesse. And he is actually not without a certain ability in understanding people, to the extent of understanding it's wise to meet their needs and try to alleviate their sufferings…He has compassion and a certain way with winning hearts, mainly due to his unassuming nature in that he has some idea of his limitations and can poke fun at himself. Many another great lord, famed for valor or skill in the field would fail to do so well in governing. And despite suspecting I'd been willing to kill his daughter along with Joffrey, he honestly wanted to see justice done at my trial then, nothing more.

We could do much worse, especially given he can still provide considerable financial support in the old ways…Though I will not breath a word of our plans to him, till the day we make our stand. Not out of fear he'd betray us voluntarily…Simply, well…With all his good attributes, and the affection his nature can engender he does remain the oaf his mother used to call him.

"Minister of Science…Grand Maester Pycelle…" Lady Janine, as the camera view swept slowly across the dais. Pycelle gravely and stiffly nodding to the others, bowing slightly to the greater Council in the Hall…

Our other survivor*, omitting yours truly, Tyrion thought, nodding to his stiff nod… "Minister…"

"My Lord…"

Clearly loving the idea of having his image as wizard-wise, elder statesman sent round the entire Kingdom courtesy the wizardry of our Occupiers. How does the vain old bastard manage it? He's just intelligent and clever enough to be a problem to anyone in power while no match for Father or Lord Varys or even that twisted wretch Littlefinger...And with little or none of Ned Stark's honest loyalty and concern for the general welfare, despite his vague claims to both. And yet he's outlasted them all to become, yet again, my problem as well as my ally, however reluctant the alliance on both sides.

Oddly enough the one hold I have on him, besides his desire to survive and his hatred for our "gallant friends from the stars" who by their very existence as well as their physical destructiveness mock his beloved Order and his learning, is that the only thing he loves and honestly believes in outside his natural philosophy, this "science" as the Dirters call it, is my House, or rather, Father's House…For the love of which, Gods know why, he will even tolerate me as its head and, within very sensible reason, risk his head. For my part, both the kingdom needs him…And the People…He being one of those few of us with both some ability to comprehend the Dirters' technology fairly quickly and having a fair degree of access to it. I know I underestimate him too often still, thanks to his constant acting, both as my annoyingly supercilious and ever divinely wise "partner" and as the foolish dotard, and even despite my appreciation of his abilities…

But in the current situation that offers the hope that the Dirters do as well. And any slight advantage we can gain, however pathetic, we must take and exploit. Just as I even allow my Sansa to risk herself with our poor Queen to glean whatever tidbits of information they can, Tyrion sighed to himself. Watching Lady Janine's eager reporting as she identified the rest of the Ministers, generally non-entities, excepting tough old Davos Seaworth, the one survivor of the opposition, Minister of Trade under Tyrell…And Minister of the Navy, such as it was, under Tyrion. He smiled briefly at the hardened old sea dog who nodded to him. Thank the gods for one honest, true-hearted smuggler in our merry crew. Probably the finest and most decent heart among us…And despite his protests when pressed to take his current position, a wily and skillful negotiator. Who better than a former smuggler to handle trade affairs under Lord Tyrell?…And who better than a man who loved the sea and cherished both his ships and his sailors to try to give us some sort of continued access to the oceans the Dirters were known to be eagerly exploiting and keep open the sea lines of communication to Essos.

I know Sansa understands the risk, Tyrion reflected as he and the others stood, awaiting the King's arrival, but that can hardly ease the overwhelming guilt that sweeps over me periodically. And the fear…Oh, gods the fear…That the one decent, fine thing I've ever won…Stumbled into really…Courtesy of my insane nephew of all people…Could be lost in an instant's carelessness, as much by my own foolish, selfish need to prove myself capable of not only a man's but a hero's role as any honorable necessity involving the good of our world's tormented people.

Yes, I can try to tell myself I play my father's role in a nobler cause than he…But for him, there was no nobler cause. For my father, maintaining the great House he'd restored to glory and seeing it prosper…And even renouncing his own personal advancement to that cause, was the noblest cause a man could have. After all he could have been King…Easily. He could have placated King Robert with ease and remained Hand of the King all those years. But he knew, with his serpentine wisdom, that the success of a House is not measured by putting a gilded crown on its head but by keeping all the real power of the state in its hands. He renounced personal power for most of his life to see that our House was never so exposed that it would become the target of all, until Varys' and Littlefinger's traps snared my poor, foolish sister, her gone-to-seed husband, and poor, out-of-his-honest-depth Ned Stark and forced Father to step forward out of the darkness he preferred to work in.

No, much as I would like, and whatever some might say as the right of the cause I have for my actions, I can't claim to be acting any more nobly than my father. We both sinners in causes we told ourselves were just and noble…And worthy of any sacrifice, oh so often, by others.

"All rise! The King!" a herald called. All the Councilors rising from their seats and the various guards, Westerosian and Dirter, coming to attention. Lady Janine giving a feverish report on the King's entrance before coming to attention with the rest.

Ah…Tyrion noted, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the King and his party.

I see not only the General, but Chairman Kach himself has decided to grace us with his delightful presence, eyeing the white-haired Dirter in his elegant suit confidently striding beside Aegon.

Wonder if he managed to blast his desired hunting quota at Riverrun into a mess blood-spattered enough to satisfy even him.

….

The Wall…

Or rather, below the Wall, in the dungeons of Castle Black…A series of cells along one wall that had been modified to form one large chamber to allow its current in habitant some degree of freedom.

Night's Watch Commander Stark, rather pleasantly relieved to find himself free of any more "public relations" duties after his little pontification on the current situation on the Wall and the wildling refugees, was showing Dr. "Sin…Clair" around, Sinclair rather eager for his part to see the most famous denizen of the Wall.

"Well, there he is…" Jon nodded… "Hello, Drogon, how are you, boy?" he spoke kindly to the creature, the now lion-sized dragon clearly pleased to see him, flapping a bit, rising a few feet in air. "How's about getting out of here for a bit and getting some air under those wings, eh boy?" he smiled at Drogon who stretched his head to be stroked, clearly excitedly aware of his upcoming freedom.

"Amazing…They're more like dogs than birds or reptiles…" Sinclair noted. Smiling at Drogon as the dragon, stretching luxuriantly under Jon's stroke, eyed the new visitor with curiousily.

"But a deal more intelligent…" Jon smiled, patting the dragon. "And independent, however much they may enjoy interacting with humans."

Try not to let your foolish eagerness to show off the one thing we have that may be a litte unique blind you to the fact that this friendly fellow maybe here for reasons that have nothing to do with scholar's work, Jon told himself, smiling at Sinclair.

Nor should one be quick to accept his hints at sympathy for our cause…If anything, his arrival here, at the entry point to the one place where we can possibly hope to mount a resistance with any prayer of success, is reason enough for suspicion, let alone his eagerness to demonstrate said sympathy.

I'd like to believe there are some among you who don't either smugly insist the "good" you do for us counterbalances any "temporary disruption" of our society, let alone the massacres, or believe this "playacting" at concern for a bunch of primitive savages is a necessary chore to keep us happy and docile.

….

Spoilers ahoy…Turn back lest ye be burdened with that ye fear to know.

*(Note-Yes, I know Pycelle's fate in the books. But given he's still alive in the TV series and I like his character, so consider this the AU Pycelle.)


	11. Chapter 11

Game of Thrones Tales: Back to the Throne Room…

Summary: There's only one solution when Tyrion and Sansa have found the new King as mad as the Mad Targaryen and cynically evil, once on the throne, as Joffrey. So evil he's happily allowed the world to be invaded by unspeakably hideous creatures from some little planet out on the spiral rim of the Galaxy, to secure his reign of terror.

Part XI…

Bravvos, capital of the Republic of the Free (No Longer, many would say, in secret places) Cities of Essos…

Marketplace, not far from the Palace of the Council and President, said Lady President Queen Danerys Targaryen…

A rather weary yet strong-looking man in the garb of a merchant carefully discussing prices of loomed cloths…Rather prized by the Dirters on their home world and so quite profitable…At several stalls. One or two of the lady sellers addressing him as both a customer of some acquaintance and a man of some appeal…

He smiled and nodded to a few, paying or making arrangement for payment after a modest degree of haggling, refusing a few others with friendly wave… "I'm just a poor man, you're too rich for me." He'd smilingly noted to one before pausing at another.

"Haggys?" he addressed the beaming, rather attractive despite her chubbiness, fortyish owner. "Anything special for me? That fabric last month did well."

"I knew I didn't charge you enough…" wide smile. "Indeed, I do, friend Jorah, come, come…" she waved him in, arch smile to a somewhat jealous stare by another, younger stall owner.

"Cantia Pentosa favors you…" she noted to the man as they went into a tent, she closing the flap behind them. A small radio playing Bravvosian music in the rear…

"One should be seen enjoying our benefactors' gifts…" she noted solemnly to his look at the radio… "And I like music." She beamed. "Welcome Jorah…"

Ser Jorah Mormont nodded, pulling off his cloak…

"You've gotten better but you still tend to pay cash too readily." She smiled at him, shaking head. "It may win you some friendly faces but it attracts attention…"

"I'm not the only former knight who's had to seek a new profession…" Ser Jorah pointed out. "I haven't concealed my name nor my past profession…I thought you felt I'd done well to do so."

"Gods, yes …Any would have spotted and reported you the first day…And even if the Dirters are casual about such things, some of their minions…" she shrugged.

"We've had this argument before. Danerys is not their minion…" Jorah frowned quickly. "She believes she's acting in the best interests of the People."

"Yes and she would have slaughtered thousands in Westeros with her army and dragons to do so if Aegon and then the Dirters hadn't appeared." Frown.

"The Targaryens are the rightful heirs…"

"Then you should be content…The rightful King rules in Westeros and Danerys here in Essos…And given their allies, it's likely they'll never be overthrown." She cocked head at him. "So why spy for the opposition? To protect your little blonde queen?" Hard stare.

"We've been here before, Haggys. I'm not a traitor or double agent if you're suggesting that…"

"If I believed that I'd've killed you the first day, Jorah." Benevolent smile. "And you know I could. No, you're even more dangerous, in some ways…An honorable man, however tainted to the world."

"A fool, I take your meaning?" he asked, calmly. "At least, a useful one, I hope."

"Again yes…And again if not, you'd be dead at my or another's hands. We've no time for honorable fools, these days, Ser Jorah."

"Enough then…We should settle our business. What news from Westeros that that…" he eyed the radio with grim look. "Chooses to omit?"

"Something new…Our agent has safely arrived." The chubby woman had suddenly straightened to nearly four inches taller, her girth tightening to solid muscle, her beauty…Jorah had to admit, in spite of himself…Now proclaiming itself, a few years melting away.

"I see…Will he…Or she…Be agent? Or assassin?"

"As our client wishes and leader of those we have sent…Though I understand for now it's a matter of infiltration. You know that more I cannot say."

"How is the client to communicate with your man…Or woman?"

"They'll contact him, never fear. I merely wanted you to pass word to him that the mission is in progress and our contract will be fulfilled." She smiled.

"And can we be sure the Faceless fight solely on the side of our people?" Jorah eyed her.

"Even if I took solemn oath to the same, you'd be a fool to believe me." She grinned, rather sincerely. "But if it eases your heart and the client's, yes. We fight solely for the people…Which could mean anything, you know."

He sighed. "I suppose that is wisdom, of a kind…"

"Lord Stannis was open in his opposition. As was Pentos, my home city." Haggys eyed him. "You know the result. Your leader is a wise man and keeps close to the King and his friends…Wiser still in that he doesn't regard himself as indispensable, though that is debatable. The Dirters may at least pretend to a rather naïve openness about their dealings but innocence can be deceptive, Ser Jorah." She regarded him. "Even yours…My friend." Faint smile. "Fortunately the Faceless never risk what they cannot afford to lose."

"You would be a great loss, Haggys." He gave a wan smile.

"But not an unaffordable one. You return to the Dothraki?" she asked casually.

"Soon…"

"You'll feel more comfortable there, I'm sure. A man like you doesn't function well in places where he must play a role and suspect all."

Sigh…Rueful smile…"Again, a polite way of calling me an honorable fool…I only wish others felt so as to the 'honorable'."

"Will you forever wear your heart out on women not worthy of you, Jorah?" kind smile. "She may be a queen but she's a fool or worse." She put up a hand to his glare, which faded immediately.

"Perhaps you're right…" he sighed. "I'm not cut out for this work."

"But you are, as the only outsider the horse lords still trust. Sadly, that makes you indispensable." She gave him a careful, sympathetic stare. "And I do wish that weren't so, Ser Jorah. For your sake…" she paused and resumed her former form of chubbily pretty seller woman.

"We'd best conclude our business. That'll be fifty per bolt."

"Fifty?" he eyed her.

"A woman has to make a living, Jorah…" hearty chuckle.

"Haggys? Before…We conclude…?"

"Varys never leaves her side. She is, after all, all he has left now that Aegon's politely but firmly refused his 'help' at his Hand's advise…"

"She can't have faith in him…" half to himself…

"He's clever and right most of the time, whatever his long-term goals and loyalties are…" she noted calmly. "She feels she needs him. Which is likely so."

"He's loyal to no one…" Jorah, grim insistence.

"Perhaps not…But he helped to see no recovery was possible under Tommen by killing Kevan Lannister and he engineered the civil war with Littlefinger's help." Careful stare. "He was useful to your little blonde queen then. You wouldn't've spurned his help any more than she."

He eyed her. "So…You suspect me too, still…?"

"I've trusted you with my life, Ser Jorah." She shrugged. "But even if there was not your past against you…And I don't mean that pathetic reason for your initial exile…I would not trust the fate and lives of the Faceless with you, your leader and our client, or anyone. A stance you and yours would be wise to emulate. I'm sorry if you feel it suggests anything personal." Gentle smile, more of the beauty leaking through. "Personally…I'm rather of fond of you in fact. I've a weakness, probably one day a fatal one…For noble heroes."

"That's not me…" Jorah shook his head. "I only do what I can and I must. And in part, it's true…For Danerys, if I can yet save her."

"Edduard Stark couldn't have spoken it better." She smiled, a bit ruefully. "Tell our client, he has one of our best at his service to lead us there and more ready when the call comes. The agent has all necessary information."

"'The call'?...Now you talk like a hero…" Jorah noted, faint smile.

"As I say, a weakness…And one day, surely fatal." Wan grin.


	12. Chapter 12

Game of Thrones Tales: Back to the Throne Room…

Summary: There's only one solution when Tyrion and Sansa have found the new King as mad as the Mad Targaryen and cynically evil, once on the throne, as Joffrey. So evil he's happily allowed the world to be invaded by unspeakably hideous creatures from some little planet out on the spiral rim of the Galaxy, to secure his reign of terror.

Part XII…

Council Chamber broadcast, Great Hall of the United Kingdom of Westeros…

King Aegon, crown modestly put aside on cushion on chair next him, now at light metal podium to give a brief closing "State of the Kingdom" speech…"And, with my gracious thanks to my ministers, my dear Lord Hand…" smile to Tyrion… "You, my good Councilors…" benevolent nod to the general chamber… "And our good friends from the stars, the Terrans…I close this meeting with all my best wishes to my dear subjects. May the Seven bless you all and may peace and prosperity reign in our kingdom and our world."

Fervent clapping from the chamber, the Terran authorities, including the seated General…The Senator…and Chairman Kach, seated next to the Senator, a rather amused look on his arrogant face. Aegon graciously nodded to the applause, motioning for his Ministers to rise as well. All rose, a few clapping to the King.

Father would have gotten on with Kach…Tyrion thought, briefly eyeing the Chairman. They'd've been mortal enemies but Father would have understood him as a man, more or less, and Kach, if I understand him, would have come to a degree of respect for him…After a minor defeat or two of some sort had proven Father's ability.

And then…He'd've spared no effort to destroy him and as much of our world as that took…

Me, however…

Well, that may be a blessing…If a disguised one.

Though I must never underestimate these people. It's tempting to do that when judging them as people…Their edge in technology and science being so overwhelming as to make them practically gods, one is easily tempted to grasp at anything that makes them more human…Vulnerable. One wants to believe they can be fooled…Beaten…On a personal level.

He has, after all, dealt with many like me…On those other worlds, some of whom he and his kind did not hesitate to destroy as they destroyed Stannis and Pentos…

Worlds he…Or his minions…Or at least others of his kind…Boiled….

Even Father would be impressed by that…

What version of "Rains of Castamere" would suit that, eh Father? Poor Father, whose beloved house started to come crashing down the day Jon Arryn got too nosey about Robert's bastards.

One wonders…If that miserable Littlefinger and that treacherous snake Varys hadn't lured Ned Stark to destruction…If the war hadn't started…If the Houses had been united under Robert.

But surely, only more lives lost…Kings' Landing, Robert and Cersei burned with Robert the one bellowing his defiance, Cersei perhaps even happy to die with him…Father would have surrendered whatever survived quickly, I'm sure.

And done as I do…Only perhaps under more suspicion…

No offense, Father…But for all your wiles, you were just too obviously capable of leading a resistance however skillful you might be in concealing it.

Well, you would not have been Hand for long I imagine. The General would have persuaded Aegon even if Aegon's natural inclination wouldn't have moved him to act against Father.

What might have been curious would have been the interim, before the Dirters came in force…When we thought we were fighting the last battle, against that long awaited menace from the East. The Targaryen claimants.

Father would have played quite a role there, wan smile. He would have dealt with Danerys and seen Aegon for what he was immediately, not be blind like me.

And he would have acted, quickly, for the good of the kingdom, though mainly for the good of his House.

But all for nought, in the end. And now, irony of ironies, with Tommen declared a bastard and Jamie, despite finally taking a mate of sorts…That odd, affecting girl…Renouncing our House and his claims…Only I, your despised imp of a son…And Sansa Stark, the daughter of the man whose wife and child you murdered, so efficiently, for the greater good…Are your one hope for your pitiful wreck of a House.

A hope never to be fulfilled, Father…He thought, coldly.

No…I can muse on you with some odd understanding, even a kind of respect now…But I cannot give you…Ever…What I know you most dearly want. I may have a child, Gods willing, one day…Only by the love Sansa bears me, despite having every reason to strangle such a child in the womb. But she or he will never be an acknowledged Lannister. The blood may be yours, Father…But the name dies with me. Unless Jamie has a change of heart one day and lets some child of his take the inheritance. But I would not count on it. In any case, it's more than likely Jamie and I will end as Stannis did…Charred corpses rotting in the wind.

And even if you somehow get your descendant by some miracle...And by some other gracious miracle we ever do drive the Dirters off or force them to some truce that gives us some hope of a life, the moment the threat of the Dirters is gone, every petty lord or ser…Even some jumped-up Lannisterport tradesman with a title purchased from some desperate, ruined knight…Will grab for every scrap of our lands. And I will not fight to keep them off…I will go with my wife and we will watch, with no little pleasure…As they snatch away every piece you gave your and so many others' heart's blood to hold together.

He looked suddenly as a song like Castamere caught his attention…Looking over to a projection screen on which an invisible Dirter troubadour was singing some ballad about a brief sea voyage ending in disaster as several attendants and guards, the Dirters, with some amused enthusiasm, watched…. "A three hour tour…A three hour tour…"

Odd the way sometimes one finds these strange commonalities…I remember that Dirter scholar, the one who wanted to go North and see the Wall…Sinclair…He liked to point out such things. Common development, fixed rules of evolution under correct conditions...The real laws by which Chance and Fate work.

"The weather starting getting rough…" the ballad went on. A minstrel listening, fingering his strings, eager to learn a tune the Dirters seemed to enjoy.

Grim enough to fit Castamere, though somehow it seemed silly, even happy.

"It's primitive as can be…" the words continued.

"My Lord Hand…" Mace had come over, beaming smile.

"My Lord…" Tyrion nodded, offering hand, ring on finger, which Tyrell kissed lightly.

"A good meeting…" Tyrell, clearly pleased to have been able to make some favorable if vague pronouncements as to the state of the Kingdom's finances.

"Yes, an excellent one…" Tyrion, pleasantly. "It's good to have you back, Tyrell. How did you find things at Highgarden? It must be lovely there now."

"Oh, quite. How is the Queen, these days? And the King, I've not had chance to speak more than a few words with him."

Quite by design, old fellow…Aegon being able to only take so much of your sincere fascination with accounts and finance, charming as he always is when it is called for.

Still, reading some serious concern in Mace's briefly clouded then cheerful face…Even ole Mace has learned to be a bit guarded in this new era…Tyrion thought…He spoke reassuringly. "Oh, the Queen's been very well…I think pregnancy agrees with her, at least in these early stages."

"Yes…She seems a bit tired though."

Oh, ole fellow…You know I can't say what you want to hear in public…That she's in no danger…That the rumors about Aegon are not true. That she conceals nothing from you. Tyrion sighed.

And yet, there at least, there's little cause for concern. In that he is not like Aerys.

"Well, she remains far too busy. Sansa, I, the King all tell her to slow down. She promises but finds far too much to do."

Mace's worried face, all attempts at concealment lost… Regarding him.

Oh, you good-hearted fellow…I can see why, if this was your father's face, your crafty mother, for all her annoyance with him, did truly love him.

"I am sure, old friend…" Tyrion put a hand on his shoulder. "She is safe and well. She has care we couldn't have dreamt of a few years ago." He smiled.

"Of course…Forgive a old father his worries." Mace nodded graciously.

"Not at all. Be assured…The King adores her and ensures her continued good health." Tyrion noted firmly.

"Thank you, my lord." Mace, genuine smile. "You and Lady Sansa are kind to be so good to her."

"She was always the one person Sansa could rely on here, in her darkest days. I never forget that, Tyrell." Firm stare.

"She is the best of us…My mother's brain…My father's heart…" Mace, again genuine smile. "I am concerned a bit about the labor draft for next month, my Lord." He began.

"Yes, it is high, I know…" Tyrion nodded. But, despite their slight isolation from the others was cautious as he saw Chairman Kach, having left his seat on his own, moving their way. "Perhaps we can discuss…"

"Lannister…Tyrell." Kach addressed them in perfect Westerosian, slight north accent…From Sansa and her teachers' training no doubt, Tyrion thought.

"Chairman." Tyrell calmly. "Chairman…" Tyrion echoed.

"Glad as I am that the festival of talk is over?" Kach grinned.

"The 'gab-fest'?" Tyrion smiled. Kach nodding, pleased.

"Well, a necessary evil…" shrug. "One does wish to keep the people informed."

"Sure." Kach, smile.

"Did you have good hunting at Riverrun…?" Mace, seeking conversational input.

"We blasted some deer to pieces, so yeah…" Kach smiled

Deer, people…I wonder if it matters to him, even in the case of close relatives, Tyrion thought.

Though he doesn't look like he'd be much with spear or sword…

"You ever hunt, lil' fellar?" Kach smiled at him now.

"Only when I'm sure I won't miss…" Tyrion smiled.

"That's my way." Kach nodded. "Uh, Tyrell, mind if I have a moment with the Hand…Alone?" his nonchalant words belying the insistence of the order. Mace nodding.. "Certainly. We should talk later, Lord Hand." Eyeing Tyrion, nodding again to Kach.

"Hope I didn't interrupt anything…"

"No, we're planning to talk later…What's on your mind, Chairman?"

Kach stretching back and regarding Tyrion with smile. "Always to the point, I like that about you, Lannister. You're not a bad people but some of you, like some of us, get a bit long-winded…Or bogged down in things that aren't worth worrying about." He strode, forcing Tyrion to follow after…Guards of both following at near distance as well. They moved out of the chamber, Tyrion briefly nodding to several councilors who hesitated to approach seeing Kach leading him on…

In the hallway Kach continued down to his office in the building, a fairly modest one…

Tyrion a bit torn between amusement and irritation at being treated like…Well, the sort of glorified flunkey Father had always treated him as when not ignoring him altogether. Kach nodded to a guard to open the door, the guard and Kach went in, Tyrion following.

His guards as always, very pointedly not allowed in…

"And?" Tyrion eyed Kach when the Chairman looked at him again, having indicated for him to take the seat across from his desk. Kach sitting as well.

This seems a bit more than slight irritation at my probing on the contact…

"That bitch needs to be put down…" Kach, coolly.

"Mother Love…" Tyrion regarded him.

"Best if you people do it yourselves…We keeping our hands out of it." Kach leaned back in his chair.

"We are proceeding against her…As a possible terrorist…But, we have to…"

"Best to see it gets done, Lannister." Kach firmly, maintaining a friendly tone. "You and your people know your way around up there…You can handle it." He smiled.

"The legal niceties can be waved when things are getting rough."

"Are she and her movement that big a problem?" Tyrion asked, managing genuine surprise. "She and hers have gotten some attention but it's all smash and grab. Food supplies. Little military."

"Not yet…But we intend to see they don't get big enough to be one. You know she could be." Kach frowned.

"I…And Aegon want this done, Lannister. It needs to be done."

"And may I ask why I should avoid the legal niceties?" Tyrion, calmly. "Surely there will be talk…"

"Not unless you want to end up like Lord Stannis…" broad smile. "Just kidding. She's a terrorist, Lannister. You've got to deal firmly with terrorists, not talk, not coddle them. We learned that on Earth long ago. So we don't put up with the waste of bulls."

"I see."

"It's a problem for us all…We can't have her disrupting our new mines and the work we're doing in the North."

"The Walker virus eradication?" Tyrion nodded.

Nod… "And you folks don't want her tearing up North there, getting the crops spoiled, that sort of thing."

"No…" Nor, just right now, do I wish to end up like Stannis.

"I'd no idea the raids were predicted to become so far ranging…She's always been limited to the beyond regions, even in the far North."

"Guess she's expanding her horizons, Lannister." Kach, firmly.

"Of course if we could have access to more heavy technology…" Tyrion smiled, anticipating.

"Fraid not. But we have confidence you people can handle this."

Work in the North…And he was too quick to let me answer it for him with the Walker eradication.

Damn, not good…Not good if they've started something in the far North., perhaps even training for Winter?

Right in the midst of our new supply dumps and during very delicate negotiations with the wildlings and former Walkers…

But the mines. In the North? Below the Wall? He seems honestly concerned for them.

"The mnes you're concerned about?"

"Especially the new ones at Riverrun." Kach noted.

"That far South? You think she could soon operate to the extent?"

"That's what I'm told." Kach, nodding. "Of course, it's all small stuff…Anything big we'd be ready to send in our troops and burn or shoot her out. But lets keep it simple for now, eh?"

Well, best to gain control of this potential muck-up, Tyrion thought. We might even be able to turn it to our advantage if handed well.

"If we do launch a major campaign in the far North, we'd need a free hand…Your activities up there…" Tyrion eyed Kach.

"Could be cut back for a few months…And while military technology beyond a few guns is out…We could provide some vehicles, heaters, heated clothing." Kach noted.

Beware of Dirters baring gifts…Tyrion thought.

We've had occasion to learn that lesson by heart these last few years.

"Now." Kach coolly. "About the new treaty."

"I've discussed it with Aegon. He's explained it."

"I would think by now, Lannister…" cool stare. "You and your people would realize we always have your best interests at heart."

"I accept that…But you may not always be aware of the ramifications of what you do, Mr. Chairman." Tyrion, calmly. "The labor drafts for all regions have been increasing steadily and there have been some serious health incidents."

"These mines are vital to Earth and the Terran Systems, Lannister. Nothing is going to be allowed to interfere with them, including any panty waists from the UN or the general public back home. You understand how the media can get when they think they blow a story out of proportion." He smiled.

"I was told you and your family pretty much owned the 'media' as you call it back on your home world." Tyrion noted quietly.

"Largely…Not perfectly. And there are the colonies…There's always trouble with radicals there. They'd love to make something like this, on a planet with a large native population, into something big, something they could get their crazies fired up about." Kach nodded. "And that would not be good."

"No, I imagine not." Tyrion glanced about the room.

Bare but for a holographic photo and laptop on desk. His wife? He eyed the photo…

Never seen her, she's quite young and pretty.

"I could say I wouldn't want to interfere with you as a native official…" Kach smiled. "But we're big…" grin. "Well, neither of us are that big…In size…"

Tyrion smiled…It was unavoidable. And Kach, while no dwarf, was very much on the shorter side of the human population.

"…But in spirit. So you know as I do, that there are separate rules for those of us in the inner halls…So I am interfering, between us…"

You remind me of Lord Varys now…Tyrion thought.

"And stating very clearly we'd prefer it if you don't try to come between us and the King on business. Put your trust in him, Lannister, he'll do what's right for your kind…Do we understand each other?"

Tyrion eyeing him. Kach nodding.

"So we agree…Now, lets put this troublemaker to rest and get on with business." Kach smiled.

"Soon as we can, Chairman." Tyrion, nodding.

So…The mines truly are critical which explains the urgent rush to completion and there's far more than a benevolent medical treatment program in effect in the far North.

Though in either case, it's got to be even more serious if Kach is willing to risk letting me know how important both projects are.

.


End file.
